LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



DUCK CREEK BALLADS 



Duck Creek Ballads 



BY 



/ 



JOHN HENTON CARTER 



(COMAIODORE ROLLINGPIN) 



AUTHOR OF "THOMAS RUTHERTON." ETC. 




NEW YORK 

H. C. NIXON 

117 Nassau St. 






Of 



-7^ 



\ 



V\ 






Copyright, 1894, by 

John Henton Carter 

All Rights Reserved. 



TO MY SONS, 
W. N. AND E. B. CARTER. 



^IMPLE rhymes is all tlierf air. 

Writ about the Southtves' where 
Folks talk plain an' sometimes stvear. 

Livin' clos' to nafiir' they 
Alus take the sho'tes' way 
To say what they've got to say. 

Dialec' its called by some 
Easte'n folks that chence to come 
Oiit here lookin' fur a home. 

But it savors o' the s'il 
An' the forests an' the loiV 
Flowers that cultivation siJ'il. 

An' the people un'erstan' 
Ev'ry accent spoken an' 
Cling to it on ev'ry han' 

On its sho's the cotiomcood, 
Dreamin' in its mossy hood, 
Casts its shadder on the flood. 

An' the rustic lovers glide 
In the twilight side by side, 
Happy that the icorl's so ivide. 



An' the bi7-ds air singin' there, 
Notes that can't be heard elseichere, 
Voicin' natur' unaware. 

Keep yer ctdtur, ef ye xcill. 
It's apxirty thing, but still 
Let me hear the ivhippencill 

[Varhlin' nigh the everglade. 
Where no teacher yit hez strayed 
*Cept the one that music made. 

Simple rhymes o' simple things 
Jes a nes' o' mutterings. 
Hatched out an' given wings. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE. 

The Old House on the Creek, - - - - l 

The Poet's Wife, -__--..- 6 
How Jim Became Governor, ----- 8 

Why They Gave, ------- 11 

Them Good Ol' Boatin' Days, - - - - 13 

Cobbler Brown, - - - - - - -17 

The Editor's Reward, ------ 20 

DotPoy, 23 

Aristocracy Place, No Thoroughfare, - - 25 
The Mate of the Blue Goose, - - - - 28 

Life, _-_--_---- 31 

Why Dave Williams Swore Off, - - - 82 
The Eternal Law, -------35 

The Captain's Story, ------ 37 

The Little Shoe, -------89 

An Ode to Spring, ------- 41 

The Land of the Sandwich, _ _ _ - 43 

The Member from Ozark, ----- 47 

Rock Along, .--------49 

Mother's Alus Hed Her Way, - - - - 61 

The Dusty Season, -------53 



U CONTENTS. 



PAGE. 

The Dying Striker, -------56 

The Pilot's Story, -------59 

Mattie Stephenson, ------ 63 

The Ghost of the Mary Ann, - - - - 65 

Decoration Day, -------67 

The Summer Solstice, ------ 70 

The Vision, ---------73 

The Mutineer, --------75 

The Train Fiend, __--_-- 73 
What Broke Up the Church at Sorby, - - 79 
To My Books, --------84 

Knox's Landing, Mississippi, - - - - 87 

What the Clock Said, ------ 92 

Zeke Slabsides, --------94 

Pickett's Post Office, - - - - - -100 

The Mysterious Suicide, ----- 103 

He Wanted to be Counted In, - - - - 107 

The Member from Coiioes, - - - - -111 

The Mystified Traveller, - - - - - 113 

Linguistic Lore, - - - - - - -UG 

Fit with Grant, - - - - - - - -118 

Atonement, - - - - - - - - -120 

The True Creed, ------- 122 

Watering the Stocks, ------ 123 

The Martyr, - - ------ 12G 

The Wabash Ranger, ------ 128 

Tobe Gray, - 130 



CONTENTS. 15 



PAGE. 

Draw One, ---------132 

The Mate of the Maria, - - - - - 133 

To A Soldier of the Union, ----- 136 

The Checot Election, ------ 138 

The Pauper, 143 

Deacon Barker's Philosophy, - - - - 144 

The Kaid of the Hopper, ----- hq 

Captain Bob Riley, - - - - - - -151 

An Ode TO Autumn, - - - - - - -154 

The Whisky Ring, - - - - - - -156 

The Noble Red Man, ------ 159 

The Mystery of Kerry Patch, - - - - 162 

No Luck in Prayer, ------- 167 

Civil Rights in Shreveport, _ _ - _ 169 
The Hero of Natchez Bend, - - - - 172 

The Apple Maid, ------- 175 

The County Fair, - - - - - - -179 

Christmas Eve, -------- I8O 

The Sad Fate of Peter Jones, - - - - 181 

Mississippi Smithers, - - - - - -185 

A Mud Theory, --------187 

Sandy Posey, .----___ 188 

The New Amazons, ------- 190 

Sandy Thompson's Steers, ----- 192 

The Unreconstructed, ------ 195 

The White Collar Line, - - - - - 199 

Blannerhassett's, ------- 202 



IDucft Crecft Ballaba. 



THE OLD HOUSE ON THE CREEK. 

I'VE bed a hankerin' o' late, to jes pick up an' 

go 
A visitin' aroim' amongst the fo'ks I ust to 

know. 
I've studied on it till I find I'm gittin' real 

homesick 
To set my eyes onct more upon the ol' house on 

the crick. 

The 'roma o' that cellar is a clingin' to me yit, 
An' to think o' that b'lled cider, makes me too 

dry to spit. 
Why I seem to taste the ginger, an' hear the 

poker sizz, 
An' share with Uncle Dan agin, that tcmp'rence 

drink o' his. 



2 THE OLD HOUSE ON THE CEEEK. 

I want to see who's livin' an' who's married an' 

who's dead, 
Ef all the young fo'ks kep' their word, an' done 

jes what they said. 
What boys hev writ their names upon the scroll 

o' fame, an' who 
Accomplished all in after life, that they set out 

to do. 

What become o' Hiram Mueller, that hed the 

freckled face, 
An' could never learn his lessons ; is he on the 

ol' place? 
In the footsteps o' his father, an' ez close fisted 

too? 
I reckon ef he is that he is purty well to do. 

I'd like to see the spring agin, at which we ust 

to drink, 
An* set down by it on the grass an' hev a good 

long think 
About the youthful faces it ouct mirrored like a 

. glass. 
An' how the worl's been treatin' em sence all this 

come to pass. 



THE OLD HOUSE ON THE CBEEK. 3 

"Who married Becky Wilkinson, they ust to call 

the belle, 
An' how she 's passed the time away? I want 

to hear her tell. 
Hez her "path been strewn with roses, an' her 

skies been alus bright," 
Ez I writ in her album, in the best hand I could 

write ? 

Maybe the birds air singin now, the songs they 

ust to sing, 
When apple-blossoms were abroad, an' all the 

sweets o' spring 
Were rompin' in the medders an' the woods an' 

garden where 
We ust to stroll together in the quiet evenin' air. 

I'd like to visit mother's grave, neglected all 

these years, 
An' ef nobody wuz aroun', ma3^be to shed some 

tears ; 
Leastwise ef they should start, I 'low, I've only 

this to say, 
I wouldn't try to stop em, but let natur' hev her 

way. 



4 THE OLD HOUSE ON THE CHEEK. 

I wonder ef the terrapin, on which I cut my name, 
Is browsin' in the clover yit, an' lookin' jes 

the same, 
Er ef his gait's a gittin' slow, his eyes a little dim, 
An' age that gins to pester me, hez also come to 

him? 

Ef brother Smiley's preachin' still down at the 

"Horner" Mill, 
An' every other week er so, comes up to Jenner's 

Hill 
To tell 'em all about the broad, an' o' the 

narrer way, 
An' how to read their titles clear, an' sheep that 

went astray? 

An' after chu'ch is out ef he goes home with 

Uncle Dan 
To eat a dinner that's got up on the ol' country 

plan ? 
Ef this is so I hope that they'll remember when 

I'm there. 
To not furget the circumstance, an set me up a 

chair. 



THE OLD HOUSE OX THE CREEK. 5 

I'll 'gree to set all afternoon an' hear em argify, 
About tlie scriptur's an' the crowns, awaitin' 'em 

on high. 
Jes to set ej^es onct more upon a hunl^ o' 

pumkin bread. 
An' other luxuries on which in early youth I fed. 

So I guess I'll wait no longer, but jes pick up 

an' go 
A visitin' aroun' amongst the fo'ks I ust to know. 
I've studied on it till I find I'm gittin real 

homesick 
To set my eyes onct more upon the ol' house on 

the crick. 



THE POETS WIFE. 



THE P0P:T'8 wife. 

T^HE Poet's wife hath pensive face, 

And sighs, "O, dearest, why thus chase 
A phantom? 'Tis a hopeless race. 

'Twere better for us both by far. 
That 3'ou should stand behind a pa'r 
Of mules upon a bob-tailed car, 

Than thus to burn the midnight oil. 
In one unceasing round of toil. 
That fails to make the kettle boil ; 

Or start a peanut stand, or take 

To any calling ; only shake 

This one, that surely takes the cake 

For a precar'ous livelihood ; 
Far better turn to sawing wood. 
Or rid the crossings of the mud." 

But lo! the poet "strikes it ;" when 
She sheds her pensive face, and then 
Becomes her dear, old self again. 



THE POETS WIFE. 



And never since hath uttered word 

Of phantoms chased, or hopes deferred, 

And not a breath is ever heard 

Of sawing wood, or peanut stand, 
Or wrestling with the muddy land, 
Or bob-tail car, or aught she planned. 

But free at last from care and strife. 
She layeth hold of social life 
And poses as the Poet's wife. 



HOW JIM BECAME GOVEBNOR. 



HOW JIM BECAME GOVERNOR. 

Ez to the Guv'ner, sir, why Jim an' me 

Were boys together, workiii' on a farm 
Till well nigh grown. Then fur variety 
We tuk to Lrowsin' 'roun' peimiskusly, 
Gittin' thicker an' thicker, from the start, 
Till it seemed ez ef we couldn't live 'part. 

At last we tho't we'd take a little rest, 

An' visit 'roun' am'ung our ol' time friends. 
An' show our boughten cloth's, fur we were dress'd 
An' rigged in fin'ry o' the very best. 
An' ez fur muuney, whj^ we made it fly 
Ez ef it growled on trees a standin' nigh. 

One day we stopped to see ol' Deacon Brown, 

Ez owned the big farm over on the run — 
All bottom Ian' an' lots o'other groun'. 
An' the fines' gal ez wuz ever 'roun' 
These here parts. Waal Jim fell in love on sight 
An set up courtin' her that very night. 



HOW JIM BECA3IE QOVEBNOB. 9 

Then he chenged his ways an' refused to drink, 

An' settled down to edecate hisse'f, 
An' bought some books, he said to help him think 
An' staid up readin' till his eyes 'ould blink, 
They 'lowed she wouldn't hev him, but she did 
An' tuk the chences that the futur' hid. 

Waal, lovers promises hev wings, you know, 

An' Jim's,they soon spread their's an' flew away, 
An' then he tuk to carryin' on so 
Her kin folks 'lowed she'd better let him go. 
But woman like, she never would gin in 
She'd throwed herse'f awa}^ in marryin'. 

But she fell off, ez ef she might be crossed 

In love, an' then her rosy cheeks growed pale. 
He seem'd to gain more strength' n she'd lost 
'Thout ever stoppin' fur to count the cost. 
Till the doctor said that she wuz nigh gone, 
Then he got scared an' went to takin* on. 

An' stayed at home an' set up day an' night. 

An' nussed the baby an' tuk care o' her, 
x\n' all a sudunt got awf'ly polite. 
Then everybody 'lowed that Jim wuz white ; 
An' when she hed it cris'ened at the chu'ch. 
He were't a man to be left in the lu'ch. 



1 HO W JIM BE CAME G VEJRNOB. 

So he jiaed to an' went to leadin' prarer, 

Wuz made a Deacon, an' then a trustee, 
An' every meetin' held, why he wuz there, 
An' ahis ready to do his full share ; 
An' so you see, the critter riz an' riz. 
Till every thin' 5^ou see 'round here's his. 

An' the cap-sheaf he's puttin's on to-night 

At his 'naugral, an' all the quality 
Air pourin' to the house from left an' right. 
In carriages, an' proud o' the invite. 
An there'll be dancin' an' the band 'ill play 
"Dixie," "Hail to the Chief," an' "Happy Day.' 

An' now, you know his hist'ry sir, altho' 
I might keep on a ta'kin' by the hour, 
Fur we wuz equ'ls twenty years ago, 
An' might be yit, but drink is drink you know— 
An' so that's how Jim become the Guv'ner, 
An' sir, he owes it ev'ry bit to her. 



WHY THEY GAVE. 11 



WHY THEY GAVE. 

'"^1 7HY do you give?" the matron said 
To the housemaid standing near, 
"Your acts encourage, I'm afraid. 

These beggars to gather here, 
Your charity is ill bestowed 

On these mendicants, I fear." 

Awhile the maiden stood demure, 

But made answer presently, 
"I give," she said, "unto the poor 

That come to the house each day, 
As one acquainted with the pangs 

Which arouse our sj^mpathy." 

"Why do you give?" a stern man said, 

To a Christian at his side ; 
" 'Tis best that each should earn his bread, 

Than thus to be supplied. 
You nurture idleness, I fear. 

Which, I hold, should be decried." 



12 WHY THEY GAVE. 

"I give," replied the holy man, 
As he grasped the other's hand, 

"Unto the need}" all I can, 
Because, as I understand, 

The Master makes imperative 
Such an act in His command." 

'Why do you give ?" another asked, 
Of a man of lands and gold, 

"Your avarice is poorly masked 
By this flimsy cloak, I hold ; 

The miser's visage ill becomes 
The hand of generous mold." 

"I give," he answers with a sigh. 
While great tears his eyes bedim, 

"Because of a son that's never nigh, 
But roams to the wide world's rim, 

In hopes that someone in his need 
May be moved to give to him." 



THEM GOOD OU BOATIDP DAYS. 13 



THEM GOOD OL' BOATIN' DAYS. 



A N aged man of feeble step, whose hair and 
beard were gray, 

Betook him to the river frout, just at the close 
of day. 

He cast his eyes about as if their waning sight 
to test, 

Then resting them upon the stream, these senti- 
ments expressed : 

"Alas ! I am a relic of the pre-railroadic age, 

An' come out hyar occasion' ly my sorrer to as- 
suage, 

By callin' up them good ol' times o' forty years 
ago 

When I piloted the Elephant, from 'Orleans ter 
Cairo. 



U TIIEM GOOD or BOATIN' DAYS. 

When the river wuz the unly route a trav'ler 

could take, 
An' folks didn't bet on ho'ses, bat the time a 

boat could make ; 
When pine-knots hed a value that hez not been 

known o' late, 
An' no oleaginous thing wuz safe among the 

freight. 

When berths wuz alas open ter them as wished 

ter ship, 
An' ever}^ man renewed his paint, on each suc- 

ceedin' trip ; 
When a pilot had staadin' in the best society. 
An' a capta'n waz the envy o' the community. 

When a game wuz alus waitin' ter while away 

the time, 
An' the bark o' the revolver not an unfamil'ar 

chime, 
When the grub wuz the fines' : an' the liquor in 

the bar 
Sech as ter make an angel wish ter pay a vis't 

thar. 



THEM GOOD OV BOATIN' DAYS. 15 

When the papers puffed the boatman, from 

captain ter the c/te/, 
An' a man could eat his breakfas', an' read 

about his se'f ; 
When wimin' wuzn't runnin' arter city dudes 

an' sech, 
But threw thar bate at river men ez' bout the 

fines' catch. 

When they cl'ared away the cabin, at evenin' 

fur a denue. 
An' every man ez' knowed a step wuz gev a 

white man's chence. 
While the barber played the fiddle 'n the porter 

the banjo, 
An' the steward called the figers, 'swing pard- 

ners, do ce do!' 

But moughty few I 'low air lef o' that air noble 
ban' ; 

They're planted all along the sho' er sleeping in 
the san' 

Jest waitin' till ol' uncle Gabe shell soun' the 
final call. 

When they ^11 rise'n lead the dancin' at the res- 
urrection ball," 



16 THEM GOOD OU BOATIN' DAYS. 

He ceased and as he vanished a halo spanned his 

brow, 
It seemed angelic whisperings were familiar to 

him now, 
And as if answering the same, he murmured, "O 

ye bet, 
I'll be thar with my pardner an' waltz in the 

fust set." 



COBBLER BBOWN. 17 



COBBLER BROWN. 

The happiest man of all the town, 
Is the cobbler Ebenezer Brown ; 
Who sits on his bench from clay to day, 
And stitches and trims and pegs away ; 
Humming a rhyme in an undertone, 
The burden of which no ear has known : 
"I've a wife I love and children three. 
And few so poor as to envy me. 
Yet the bread of toil is ever sweet. 
And I'm thankful we've enough to eat." 

His leather apron is soiled and worn, 

And his meagre "kit" has served its turn. 

And the floor is bare and the windows, too, 

But the morning sun comes streaming through 

And casts a halo about his hair, 

Till it seems a saint has stole in there. 

"I've a wife I love and children three, 
And few so poor as to envy me. 
Yet the bread of toil is ever sweet. 
And I'm thankful we've enough to eat." 



18 COBBLER BROWN'. 



In a wooden chair his Lena sits, 
And in sweet contentment sews or knits. 
While the baby with a cast off shoe, 
Is trying to cut it's "toofys frew." 
And two rosy boys are standing near 
Watching the pegs as they disappear. 

"I've a wife I love and children three, 
And few so poor as to envy me. 
Yet the bread of toil is ever sweet, 
And I'm thankful we've enough to eat." 

No thought has he of to-morrow's store, 
Nor vain regrets for what is o'er. 
But pursues his honest task each day, 
And at evening smokes his pipe of clay ; 
Yet no millionaire in all the town 
Is happier than the Cobbler Brown. 

"I've a wife I love and children three, 
And few so poor as to envy me, 
Yet the bread of toil is ever sweet, 
And I'm thankful we've enous^h to eat.'' 



COBBLER BBOWN. 19 

Long may he cherish the simple rhyme, 
And when age shall come as 't must in time, 
And strength shall fail and his eyes grow dim. 
May some one cheerfully toil for him. 
And the halo of life's setting sun 
Encompass the brow of this saintly one. 
"I've a wife I love and children three, 
And few so poor as to envy me, 
Yet the bread of toil is ever sweet. 
And I'm thankful we've enough to eat.'' 



2 THE EDIT OB' S RE WARD . 



THE EDITOR'S REWARD. 



A journalist from Duck Creek, of the ancient 

Bourbon school, 
Whose chief ambition is to yearn for Democratic 

rule, 
With beaming brow, and sprightly gait, stepped 

from an early train, 
And hastening to the White House, proceeded 

to explain : 

"My father was a Democrat, likewise my grand- 
sire, too. 

And all my readers know I print a paper that's 
true blue. 

I hold man's highest aim should be to propa- 
gate the creed, 

And sow and till with patient hand the monti- 
cello seed. 



THE EDITOB'S BEWABD. 21 

' 'I helped to run you in, you know, just eight long 

years ago, 
And toiled with others that you might succeed 

yourself, also. 
And after having skipped a term, you're seated 

• in the chair, 
I think that I may safely say I helped to put 

you there. 

"Your picture hangs upon my wall, with that of 

Mrs. C. 
And baby Ruth, and every week, I freely puff 

all three. 
I've named a boy, also two girls, in honor of the 

same. 
And feel that I have started them upon the road 

to fame. 

"But now my paper, like my wife, is needing a 

new dress, 
Not that I think of them the more^ nor of the 

children less. 
So I've come on with signatures, a little place 

to seek " 

And drawing forth his parchment, he wisely 

ceased to speak. 



22 THE EDITOB'S BE WARD. 

The Presidential eye was thrown upon the 

mighty list. 
"You'll have to take your turn," he said, "in 

the official grist." 
And then he tossed the document upon a pile 

near by, 
So large it filled the capitol, and rose into the 

sky. 

They parted and the editor sought the outgoing 

train, 
And on his pass was landed safely at his home 

again, 
Where he still does noble battle against his 

party's foes, 
But his paper and his family are wearing their 

old clothes. 



DOT POY. 23 



DOT POY. 

''/^^OOM here, mine leetle Peterkin, 

My bromisin' yung zun, 
Unci dell me efry ding you gin 

'Bout dot great Vashington. 
Vot for dey praise him oop so high?" 

"Because he couldn't tell a lie." 

"Yah, dot vas so, mine leetle shent, 

Vat odor dings j^ou know 
'Bout dot great man vas Bresident 

Von hund'ed years ago? 
Coom, shpeak him oudt, I vants to see" 

"The hatchet and the cherry-tree." 

"Dere nefer vas a poy dot vay 

Dem shesnuts all to learn ; 
He pees der Bresident soom day 

Ven it cooms to his durn. 
Whose fader vas he? dell dot to me." 

"The father of his country." 



24 DOT POY 



"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!— veil, I'll be plowed, 

I vants to roll der floor, 
Sooch happiness vas nefer knowed 

To coom to me before. 
Dot poy be make me feel so broiid 

I vants to shout mineself oudt loud." 



ABIS TO CBA CYFLA CE, NO Tli OR UGHFABE . 2 5 



ARISTOCRACY PLACE, NO THOROUGHFARE. 



A DUET. 



Croesus : 

" I'm a ton and reside in a place you can't match, 
There's a gate at each end, and no string to the latch, 
For exclusiveness nothing can with it compare. 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare. 
No thoroughfare, 
No thoroughfare, 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare." 

Toiler : 

"Perhaps 'tis Utopia, the pure ideal state, 
Can environment make one the master of fate ? 

Do the cares of the world never enter in there ? 

Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare. 

No thoroughfare. 

No thoroughfare, 

Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare." 



23 ABISTOGBACY PLACE, NO THOBOUGHFABE. 

Ckoesus : 

"Your emotions arise from your necessities, 
My position assured I've no such vagaries, 

Which accounts for my reticent nonchalant air — 

Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare, 

No thoroughfare, 

No thoroughfare, 

Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare." 

Toiler : 

" Can riches bring peace to the care-burdened soul? 
Or surfeit inspiration ? Then what is the goal ? 
Is it the life of elegant leisure you share ? 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare. 
No thoroughfare, 
No thoroughfare. 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare. " 

Croesus : 

"O! your logic belongs to the sour grape brand, 
'Tis the bird in the bush, not the bird in the hand. 
You'll reform it, no doubt, when you've more savoir 

faire. 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare, 
No thoroughfare, 
No thoroughfare, 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare." 



ARIS TO CBA C Y PL A CE, XO THOB UGHFABE . 27 

Toiler : 

" Then saiive qui pent is the creed you would teach, 
(Save hhnself who can and not each other save each). 
Ah ! The seal of 3^our tribe's on the masonry there : 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare, 
No thoroughfare, 
No thoroughfare, 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare.'* 

Croesus : 

" I've no time to be bandjdng words here with j^ou. 
Life at best is but brief, and no one can have two, 
So let him reap who can the full lion's share — 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare. 
No thoroughfare, 
No thoroughfare, 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare." 

Toiler : 

"O ! then be it my lot to remain ever poor, 
That my faith may increase, as I toil and endure, 
For T envy you not your fine mansion in there — 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare. 
No thoroughfare. 
No thoroughfare. 
Aristocracy Place, no thoroughfare." 



28 THE MATE OF THE BLUE GOOSE. 



THE MATE OF THE BLUE GOOSE. 



The boat lied made a laudin' 
Fur a mule that wuz standin' 

On the rise o' grouu' jes above the slip, 
But in spite o' their bluffiu' 
An' tail-twistin' an' cuffin', 

He didn't seem inclined to make the trip. 

He wuz a sorry critter, 

O' com' on country litter — 

Big-headed, shagg}^ cockle-bur' ed an' mean ; 
An' jes sech a quadrupid 
Ye'd reckon wuz too stupid 

To feed hisse'f ef turned out on the green. 

"Come now, le's hev this mule in," 
Said the Mate, "an' no foolin' ; 

We kent stay here a monkeyin' this way," 

When Si Wiggins said, "come, git " 

Waal, I'm sorry to admit 

That Sirus ain't been heard o' sence that day. 



THE MATE OF THE BLUE GOOSE. 29 

Then Brophy took occasion 
To observe that moral 'suasion 

Sometimes proved more effective than hard 
blows. 
But deaf to all entreaty 
An' gatherin' his feet he 

Brought Brophy' s brief career to a close. 

The rousters now were bilin' 
An' fur a fight were spilin' — 

'Cep them ez hed been sent tokingum come, 
An' interduced heroic 
Treatment on that air stoic 

By poundin' him with rails an' bo'lders some. 

But they kep' on expirin', 
Fur that mule wuz untirin' 

In puttin' heads on all 'at did assail, 
Ontil there come a stillness, 
An' the Mate felt a chiilness, 

Fur he alone wuz lef to tell the tale. 

Then he cast on that critter 
A look ye might call bitter. 

An' made remarks that I'll not put in rhyme. 
Suthin' 'bout ez 't wuz the rule 
O' a com' on ken try mule 

To be alus keepin' boats ahin' their time. 



30 THE MATE OF THE BLUE GOOSE. 

Then the dus' it riz an' flew 
Till it shut em both from view, 

An' fur a spell they gouged an' punched 'way, 
Till the racket wuz mistuk 
Fur an earthquake that hed shuk 

The setttement surroundin' there that day. 

The Blu(^ Goose went pulfin' 'long 
Ez ef nuthin' hed gone wrong. 

An' lookin' out fur other stock an' freight, 
Leavin' that air stub' or n mule 
Hoi' in back ez wuz his rule, 

An' determined that he wouldn't immigrate. 



LIFE. 31 



LIFE. 

Two vessels in mid-ocean meet, 
And "ship ahoy," each other greet: 
'Oh! whence and whither — sail so fleet? 

'I hail from out the silence there" — 
Each gazing back with solemn air — 
'And hie, alas! I know not where." 

When one came walking on the sea, 
'Lo, I reveal all mystery. 
He finds a port who follows me." 



32 WHY DAVE WILLIAMS SWORE OFF. 



WHY DAVE WILLIAMS SWORE OFF. 

No boys, I've quit 

An' done with it ; 

An' hereafter don't furgit 
When ye'r' drinkin' to pass me — 
I've tackled my las' whisky. 

That's how I stan' 

On this thing, an' 

Fact is I've been a dif rent man 
Ever sence that Chrismas night 
We went home from Frazier's tight. 

You know I'd been 

Dead sober then 

Fur more' 11 a year, an' so when 
Belle catched sight o' me she fell 
Over in a faintin' spell. 



WHY DAVE WILLIAMS SWOBE OFF. 33 

I staggered to 

The house an' threw 

Myse'f down — that's all I knew 
Till mornin' an' woke to find 
She wuz still out o' her mind, 

An' on the floor 
Sence the night afore, 
Handsomer 'an when she wore 

Her bridal dress, an' gin to me 

The keepin' o' her destiny. 

I lay her on 

The bed ez one 

With life 'bout already gone, 
An' nu'sed her all alone till she 
Opened her eyes an' looked at me. 

An' sech a look, 

It almos' tuk 

My breath, ez I stood an' shuk ; 
Fur I knowed all her mis'ry 
Wuz caused by that on'ry spree. 



34 WHY DAVE WILLIAMS SWORE OFF. 

Au' I said, "Belle, 

Ef ye' 11 git well, 

I'll never do it 'gin." I tell 
Ye, her an' drink couldn't agree, 
An' she's my wife. No, thank ye I 

The act might kill 
Her, bo3^s, keep still — 
Go in yerselves ef ye will, 

But ez fur David Williams, he 

Hez tackled his last whisky. 



THE ETEBNAL LAW. 85 



THE ETERNAL LAW. 



A rose upon a summer day, 
Called to the billows plaintively, 
"I languish for thy cooling spray." 

To which the ocean made reply : 
"I fill with moisture yonder sky ; 
Turned thitherward thy longing eye." 

A vessel, sadly tempest tossed, 
Goes down and all aboard are lost, 
Though pious hands in prayer are crossed. 

When from the lightning's forked tongue. 
Re-echoing the stars among — 
"Man perished thus when time was young." 

A toiler uttereth his moan, 
"Alas ! my every hope hath flown, 
I sow where harvests are unknown." 



36 THE ETEBNAL LAW. 

When, lo! a brooklet, rippling by, 
Cries in exultant melody, 
"There are green fields beneath the sky.' 

Two kindred souls are joined as one 
In "holy rites" — the years go on, 
And sorrow comes between anon. 

"Lord, teach my feeble lips to pray — " 
One cries in anguish — "lead the way." 
The other perished in its clay. 



THE CAPTAIN'S STOBT. 37 



THE CAPTAIN'S STORY. 

I run the boat mysePf, an' you see 
We ust to think it a mystery, 
Till the truth come out, an' then we knew 
'Twuz human natur' through an' through. 

Aunt Martha Goode wuz our chambermaid- 
Not much of a heroine, I'm 'fraid 
You'll find but little in sech to praise. 
It's a cur'ous story, anyways. 

Fur whether sweepin' er in the suds, 
Er ironin' er a mendin' duds, 
When the whistle blew fur Notre Dame, 
Out on the fo' castle Martha came. 

With a pu's' o' money in her hand, 
Which she gev to some one on the land. 
Then back agin to her work she'd skip, 
To repeat the same thing the next trip. 



38 THE CAPTAIN'S STOBY. 

She must hev a frien' out there, some said, 
Others 'lowed her wrong about the head, 
So things went on till we come to call 
It Aunt Martha's whim, an' furgot 't all. 

But one evenin', she sent fur me — 
"Capt'n, I'm a goin' to die," says she, 
An handin' me her money she said : 
"Please send it to him when I am dead." 

Tell him it ez frum his frien' that knew 
His mother, an' to be good an' true. 
I've written here his address an' name — 
It's Albert Saunders o' Notre Dame. 

That is the story o' Martha Goode, 
How she sacrificed her motherhood, 
Rather 'an it should be known that he, 
Her son, descended from sech as she. 

Ez fur the boy, he kin hold his own 

With the best o 'em, an' more is known. 

He's married now, an' settled down 

Ez Judge Saunders — j^ou'll excuse the town. 



THE LITTLE SHOE. 



THE LITTLE SHOE. 

'Tis but a little russet shoe, 
Quite stringless and forlorn, 

And void of sole ; and wrinkled, too, 
And sadly bent and torn, 

As if the childish feet had sought 
Life's tumult at its morn. 

"An ornament, an ornament," 
Dear loving Grandma cries 

In tones of sudden merriment, 
Denoting glad surprise, 

While placing it upon mj desk 
Where pen and paper lies. 

''I found it in the closet there. 

Among his other toys," 
She spoke as when some memory rare 

Arouses vanquished joys. 
And a sweet vision of the past 

The yielding soul employs. 



40 THE LITTLE SHOE. 

It holds its place a welcome guest, 
As fleeting years go by, 

And lo ! the little one that blessed 
Our home is ever nigh, 

To cheer us in our lonely hours. 
In tones that cannot die. 



^Y ODE TO SPRING. 41 



AN ODE TO SPRING. 

To sing o' gentle spring may be all right 
Fur other latitudes, but don't indite 
Sech nonsence 'bout the wild an' wooly west. 
Fur a more vig'rous spring suits her the best. 

O' all the seasons o' the rollin' year, 
Spring is the one that's most upon its ear. 
Out on a reg'lar tare from fust to last ~ 
Talk 'bout its bein' gentle, lemme ast: 

Is a cow gentle that you tell to "hist," 
An' kicks the bucket over about twiced 
Afore you start to milkin' her, an' when 
You say, "so, Bossy, so," an' try again, 

An' find she wont, but to your great surprise. 
Plants both her feet 'bout where your supper lies, 
An' goes right on a eatin' o' your hay? 
But let me put in another way. 



42 AN ODE TO SPBINO. 

Imagin' fur a minute you hev thrown 
Your lamps upon a rip roaring cyclone 
That's p'inted fur your shanty an' you jes 
Crawl in the underground hole with the res' , 

An' wait till it hez passed and then you see 
Your house an' barn a keepin' company 
With that same gentle zepher, that's the spring 
O' which a weste'n poet hez to sing. 



THE LAND OF THE SANDWICH. 43 



THE LAND OF THE SANDWICH. 



Since the good Kalakua, 
Of the Kingdom of Hawaii 
Put aside his regal sceptre, they've been having 
quite a pull 

As to who shall rule Owhyhee, 
Maui, Oahu, Malokia, 
Kaui, Lauia, Niihau, Kahoolaui, as the sovereign 
mogul. 

O, isles of the Pacific, 
Where Kilauea burns terrific, 
'Neath her heaven-piercing peak, with its hoary 
crown of snow. 

And the lavas hierogtyphic, 
Invites men scientific 
To ponder over forces that are potent down 
below, 



44 THE LAND OF THE SANDWICH. 



Tell us Mauna Helekala, 
Will thy fire be ever fallow? 
Shall thy burning eye be quenched in an ever 
during night? 
Will you need our oil or tallow, 
To allume your coast so shallow, 
Or our live electric wire, which we claim is out 
of sight? 

Is there money in stock raising? 
Are your mountains built for grazing? 
And in brief, have yoM resources to maintain a 
sovereign state? 
Have you ceased forever praising 
The shark God ? Are your ways in 
Keeping with our system, or is monarchy your 
fate? 



THE LAND OF THE SANDWICH. 43 

How about the festive Sandwich? 
Does it flourish ? Is the brand which 
Adorns our lines of travel, of the vintage you 
most prize ? 

Have you widows that are big — rich, 
And handsome maidens and sich? 
And what of their complexion and the color of 
their eyes ? 

Answer by return of steamer, 
For our eagle is a screamer. 
And he's out "for a roll," on his skirmishes, 
you bet ; 

And we yet may have a prem'er, 
That will see his way clear 
To send old Uncle Samuel's fleet and lift you 
from the wet. 



46 THE MEMBER FBOM OZAJRK 



THE MEMBER FROM OZARK. 



He kem ter these hyar parts a few years ago, 

A straunger without any sort o' a show, 

No money or credit ter start him in biz, 

But pluck, game an' sech like war em'nently his. 

So gittin' his grip on a thousand er less, 
He purchased fo'thwith an ol' cylinder press. 
An' openin' an office, immed'ately he 
Commenced fur ter print a rip-snortin' daily. 

The Court House an' Council he carried b}^ storm, 
With an article headed: "sweeping reform", 
Which closed by declarin', he meant ter pursue 
A course that would bring all corruption ter view. 

The printin' he got by a coiq^ 'd 'etat, 
An' fur a brief time he suspended the law, 
Commandin' the ol' city dads ter keep still 
While he groun' out some light frum his gospel 
mill. 



THE MEMBER FROM OZARK. 47 

The news that he printed war some ter behold, 
He'd bury a critter afore he war cold, 
An spin out an epitaph forty lines long 
'Fore his victim 'ould know thar' war anything 
wrong. 

Perlitical meetin's war his very best holt. 
An' ye jes orter 've seen him conductin' a bolt, 
When the thing warn't goin' a'cordin' ter Hoyle 
An' a nigger got in er a chap truly lo'al. 

I tell ye, ol' man, he war pisen on 'em. 
An' night an' again he'd go off on a bum, 
Thought nothin' o' makin' a twenty mile tramp 
Jes ter git ter throw shell in a radical camp. 

But he's a law maker now in Jef'son Cit', 
An' warms like a statesman a seat in the pit. 
Got his lamps on the White House — the Pres'- 

dent's cha'r, 
Waal 'f ever he starts h'U wont keep him from 

thar. 



48 THE MEMBEB FBOM OZARK. 

But I s'pose everything is the will o' the Lord, 
All' our member is jes taldn' in his reward — 
Though I 'low he's more faith in healthy green- 
backs, 
Than he hez in the morals taught in yer tracks. 



ROCK ALONG. 49 



ROCK ALONG. 

Should fortune frown upon your path, 

Press on with might and main, 
Each victory gained, the hero hath 

More strength to fight again. 

So face life's daily battles with a heart that's 

brave and strong. 

Rock along, Rock along, 

Rock 

along. 

If you're in love, and she you seek 

To be your life-long mate. 
Informs you hers is not the cheek 

On which j^ou'll vegetate, 

Don't sound your troubles to the w^orld as if 

you were a gong. 

Rock along, Rock along. 

Rock 

along. 



50 BOCK ALONG. 



There never was a maid so fair, 
That could not find a match, 
You've heard about the fish out there, 

Also about the catch — 
So don't proclaim yourself a bell and ring out 

your "ding-dong." 
Rock along, Rock along. 
Rock 

along. 

And if at times your lot is hard, 

Your blessings very few, 
If others play the winning card. 

While scarce a trump hold you, 
Don't fancy that you're fated to endure a lasting 

wrong. 
Rock along. Rock along. 
Rock 

along. 



MOTHER'S ALUS BED HEB WAY. 51 



MOTHER'S ALUS HED HER WAY. 

"Motlier alus hez her way, 
Hev to ast Ae?-," pap would say ; 
When a circus come to town, 
Er some other show wuz' roun', 
We were hankerin' to see 
But were sho't o' currency. 
Fur she akis kep' the pu's' 
Ez a so't o' family trus', 
An' when anything wuz done 
That would trespass on the fun' 
That the taxeshed to pay. 
Mother alus had her way. 

Seemed ez she wuz bo'n to do 
An' act jes ez she ust to. 
Nothin' studied er put on, 
Jes the same to every one. 
Kind an' gracious ez a queen, 
Smilin' on us so serene. 
That her presence seemed to fill 
An' illume the house. Her will 
Firmly fixed on things above — 
Leadin' us with filial love, 
Through the twilight to the day — 
Mother alus hed her way. 



52 MO TITER' S AL US HED HEB WA Y. 

Faults we bed an' many, too, 

But she never looked us through, 

Ef she did she only saw 

What wuz perfec', not the flaw. 

Ez that night when Dan an' me 

Come home from the huskin' bee, 

Staggerin' to the house so tight, 

Could n't 'stinguish black from white. 

An' she put us both to bed, 

Not a word wuz ever said, 

But when she kneeled down to pray — 

Mother alus hed her way. 

Sittin' in her chair I see 
Mother ez she ast to be, 
With her yarn upon her lap, 
Knittin' socks fur me an' pap. 
Sister Sue an' brother Dan, 
An' the baby Debby Ann. 
Thinkin an' a plannin' , too 
What's the bes' fur us to do. 
Though she's dead these twenty years, 
Everj^thing the same appears. 
See her now ez plain ez day — 
Mother's hevin' still her way. 



THE DUSTY SEASON. 53 



THE DUSTY SEASON. 



Of all the ills which yex mankind, 

There's none that is so trying 
As stepping out to always find 

This "terra flrma" flying. 
There's nothing we can say is ours ; 

Our gardens can't be trusted, 
For 3^esterday I planted flowers, 

And they got up and dusted. 

My lettuce, too, and cabbage failed, 

The radishes are dying, 
And, goodness, how the madam railed 
To see the beds a-flying ! 
"Look here," said she, "at this vile room! 

I'm perfectly disgusted." 
"My dear," said I, "just get a broom;" 
And she got up and dusted. 



64 THE DUSTY SEASON. 

The doctor came to feel the pulse 

Of Nell, who had the fever. 
*'I have no fear for the results, " 

Said he, "I'll soon relieve her; 
Her peck of dirt she's ate this week, 

And never once mistrusted ; 
Some purer climate let her seek." 

And she got up and dusted. 

For weeks we battled with the foe. 

Who gained upon us daily ; 
The Steinway's ruined, the clock won't go, 

The canary sings less gaily ; 
The dog looked like a walking farm 

Of vegetation busted, 
And, fearing still more serious harm, 

Why, he got up and dusted. 



THE DUSTY SEASON. 66 

"Go for the Mayor," said I to John, 
"Be quick and get about ; 
Tell him to send a posse on 

With spades to dig us out." 
But blind with dirt, he struck the fence, 

And his proboscis busted, 
Then, striking a two forty hence, 
Why, he got up and dusted. 

Above I saw the lightning flash, 

And heard the distant thunder ; 
Anon, another deafening crash, 

Which said, "All stand from under." 
Then quickly came the welcome rain — 

Before any one mistrusted — 
And here I would remark again, 

That we got up and dusted. 



56 THE DYING 8TRIKEB. 



THE DYING STRIKER. 

Mother, draw aside the curtain, 
Let me see the light once more, 

And the calmly flowing river 
That we loved in days of yore : 

Ere the sordid hand of progress 
Smote its banks with cinders dire, 

And illumed the peaceful valley 
With its all-consuming fire. 

Progress ! surely is it progress 
That the common mass should toil 

In the glow of molten metal 
Till their very souls recoil ? 

Falling in the awful ordeal. 

And in silence perishing. 
That some vain, ambitious creature 

Should become an "iron kinor!" 



THE DYING STBIKEB. 57 

I was one among the many, 

Following the scriptural plan, 
Seeking bread by honest labor, 

Loving well my fellow-man ; 

Thought it nobler far to suffer 

Than by trickery to climb. 
Trusting in the pretty stories 

That are taught in prose and rhyme. 

Well, perhaps I Avas mistaken ; 

It was but an idle dream, 
A delusion fondly cherished. 

Not at all what it would seem. 

Yet perchance the toiling millions 

Coming after us may say 
That their burden was made lighter 

By the men who fell to-day. 

Mother, come and close the curtain. 

All repining is in vain ; 
Alien hands are in possession, 

And the strike has failed again. 



68 THE DYING STBIKER. 

Tis the oft repeated story: 

And the old unequal fight ; 
Yet some time in the future 
God will set our cause aright. 



THE PILOTS 8 TOBY. 69 

THE PILOT'S STORY. 

B'lieve in speiits? Waal I 'low 
I'm leanin' that way anyhow, 
Ever sence the Vivian 
Bu'nt an' sunk in Bunch's Ben', 
During the big overflow 
Back in seventy. Eh, O ! 

Ez to how I come to change 

My min' you may think it strange, 

But facts air stubborn things, an' we 

Can't go back on what we see. 

I'll tell you how't come about 

Ef you've time to hear me out. • 

All aroun' wuz pitchy dark, 

An I could' t see a mark 

Er a thing to hold 'er on, 

Fur the shore an' stream were one, 

An' the rain come peltin' down 

Till it 'pear'd the boat 'would foun'. 



60 THE PILOTS 8 TOBY. 

I could iinly let 'er drift 
With the current ; makin' shift 
To catch a glim'se o' suthin when 
It lightened. We hed been 
Floatin' this way fur a spell 
When I heard the watchman 3'ell 

"Fire, Fire, land er quick!" 
Then somebody gin to kick 
In the stateroom doo's an' shout ; 

"Git up here an' hurry out; 
Put yer life preservers on, 
An' be lively or ye' re gone." 

Sech a scene of sufferin' 

I never wan' to see agin, 

Women screamed an' chil'en cried — 

Men grew pale 'n holler-eyed 

An' speechless ; like they were dumb. 

An 't seemed the jedgment day'd come. 



THE PILOTS 8T0BT. 61 

Twenty year er more its been 

Sence we lost the Vivian, 

Yit I never pass the place 

But I'm forced agin to face 

All the dismal scene around 

An' the hun'er'n people drowned. 

An when stars air overhead 
An' the fog begins to spread 
On the water an' the land, 
Then I see 'em hand in hand. 
Ghostly white an' thin ez air, 
Here an' there an' everywhere. 

Playin' sort of hide an' seek — 
Young an' frisky, old an' weak — 
Glidin' where the shadders play 
'Long the sho' an' then away 
To where the baj^ou tunnels through 
The cottonwoods DeSoto knew. 



62 THE PILOTS STORY. 

AYaitin fur the trumpet's call 
That shell summons one an' all 
To that region far away 
Where a never endin' day 
Lights the river an' the shore, 
An disasters come no more. 



MATTIE STEPHENSON. 63 



MATTIE STEPHENSON*. 



So young, so fair, her life was all too brief, 

Yet gauge we not her worth by length of days, 
But rather by our own enduring grief. 

And sweet remembrance and unceasing praise, 
And the recurring pleasure that we find 
In giving her sweet story to mankind. 

Alone she watched until the moon went down. 
Bathing the feverish brow with tender care ; 
Again the faithful Howard, in his round 
At early dawn, pauses to find her there ; 
But not the cheerful maid of yesterday. 
Ah ! would there were no sadder word to say. 



* The Heroine of the Memphis Epidemic, 1870. 



64 MATTIE STEPHENSON. 

Sleeps she in unknown grave in future time, 
O'er which the modest ivy creeps unsung? 
No I let the monumental marble climb, 

And her sweet name unto the world be flung. 
Time hath no nobler heroine revealed 
Than she who fell with those she could not 
shield. 



THE GHOST OF THE MART ANN. 66 



THE GHOST OF THE MARY ANN. 

''Water hez ghosts ez well as Ian'," 
The pilot said, "j^ou un'erstan', 
I seen one climb that air jackstaff 
Every night an' look 'fore an' af , 
An' stan' my watch ez though that he 
Wuz pilotin' instead o' me. 

But it ain't thar now — don't be skeered — 
Been sometime sence it disappeared, 
An 't wont come back byar I allow 
A roostin' 'roun' this hyar ol' skow. 
I'll tell you how it come to go, 
Ez I reckon you'd like to know. 

I stood it fur a month er more 
When one night says I, go a shore, 
The Mary Ann can't hoi' us both. 
I wuz riled' n mought a used an oath ; 
But there it set till my watch wuz through 
An' Jo wuz called, when awaj^ it flew. 



66 THE GHOST OF THE MABY ANN. 

Four o'clock I wuz up agin 
An' at the wheel — when durn my skin ! 
Thar set the ghost on the night-hawk ; 
In front o' me — I gev a squawk — 
But it only turned 'roun' an 'peard 
To think 'at it hed got me skeered. 

This was too much, says I, call Jo 

To hol'er till I go below, 

An I loaded up my fusee, 

That never yit went back on me - 

An' drawin' a bead on its head, 

I cracked away — that ghost wuz dead." 



They'd stuffed a suit of the captain's clothes, 

An' every night the same they rose 

Up by a cord and that was what 

The pilot saw and what he shot : 

But ever since the old man boasts 

To the passengers he's death on ghosts. 



DECOBATION DAY. 67 



DECORATION DAY. 



Dec'ration Day, eh? Waal, it never kerns roun', 
But I think o' a critter ez lef this town — 
Been gone, lemme see, fur this thirty odd year, 
I'll tell ye how 't war, mum, ef ye'dlike ter hear. 

Wilkins Bowers war his name, — kem, now, don't 

git skeered, 
Been a moughty long time sencehe dis'peared ; 
Why thar ain't a gal ez is spreadin' them flowers 
Ez ever heard tell o' this same Wilkins Bovfers. 

He warn't much on love, but he captured one gal 
Though sheer cussedness, ez the folks ustter tell ; 
Fur he never dun nothin' but loaf an spree, 
An' why she lived with him war a mystery. 



68 DECORATION DAY. 

Waal, her cheeks growed pale, an' she kept 

takin' on, 
Ez women'll do, an' war purfcy nigh gone ; 
Fur men when they're a drinkin' can't sym- 

perthize, 
An' tears air a weakness that some fo'ks despise. 

But soon the war kem on, an' he jined the ranks. 
An' the people o' the neighborhood gev thanks 
Fur the takin' o' this on'ry Bowers awa3^ 
Why, I remember it ez though it war ter day. 

'Twar a summer mornin', an' the Colonel said, 

"Fo'ard, brigade, march!" an' then, with a 
steady tread, 

They waltzed 'way ter the front down in Ten- 
nessee. 

Please keep yer seat thar, Mum, an' don't star' 
at me. 

Then the san'tary folks kem aroun' with grub 
An' clothin' fur the woman and her little cub. 
An' the neighbors allowed how ol' Uncle Sam 
War a far better pervider than her ol' man. 



DECOBATIOK DAY. 69 

An' she thinks me dead, an' every blessed year 

Kerns hj^ar with the res' jes ter drap a tear 

On the soldier's graves an' keep their memories 

green, 
Jes like a woman (but oh I how she is agin'.) 

No, I never kin tell her, better far that she 
Worship her hero ez dead than 'gin live with me. 
An' that young man's yer son, Mum — Waal yes, 

I knowed Bowers, 
But the crowd's a moving' on. go an' spread yer 

flowers. 



70 THE SUMMEB SOLSTICE. 



THE SUMMER SOLSTICE. 



My love is where sea breezes blow, 
And I am keeping house alone — 
'Tis somewhat novel I must own, 

But very pleasant, don't 3'ou know! 

I trust the change will do her good, 

I feel that it is helping me — 

I haven't had such liberty 
Since putting off my bach'lorhood. 

What care I now for ten o'clock? 

There's none to say, "John, come to bed.' 
I sit and read and nod my head, 

And rousing read again and rock. 

The sun may chmb the vaulted sky 
And kiss the dew from off the flowers, 
I take my ease, nor count the hours 

Nor days as they go flitting by. 



THE SUMMER SOLSTICE. 71 

Of breakfast I partake at nine, 
And rarely dine till 6 P. M., 
I'm taking my meals out "pro tern," 

No cooking done at home in mine. 

jror I have drawn the curtains down, 
And closed up the vestibule, 
And sit up-stairs where it is cool — 

Ostensibly I'm out of town. 

And so complete is the device, 

That none who are disposed to call, 
Suspect that I am watching all, 

And playing it upon them nice. 

The gas fiend stops and stares about, 
And hums "Eh! eh! they're all away, 
I'll charge 'em up for every day — 

The company shall be nothin' out." 

No more the dust's wild freaks to tame, 

The sprinkling cart's sh-i-sh, sh-i-shis heard. 
Nor has it from the stable stirred — 

They'll send the bill in, all the same. 



72 THE SUMMEB SOLSTICE. 

Auon, the tanned old harvester 
His sickle rests upon the gate, 
He says, "I'll hang aroun' an' wait, 

It can't be long till they air yer." 

The huckster, too, goes creeping by ; 
With sullen look and muffled voice, 
He feebly calls out "hyar's yer choice 

Apples! 'taters! melons! cel'ry." 

The tinker cries, "tinware to mend," 
Though carrying his furnace cold — 
He rarely lights it, I am told. 

He's keeping up his fly-time end. 

The book agent unbends his load 
Of moral works in monthly parts, 
Confronts the closed-up house and starts 

With the remark, "Waal, I'll be blowed!" 

And so each day they come and go, 
And keep a watch for our return. 
And sweat beneath the sun and burn — 

I'm sorry for them, don't you know. 



THE VISION. 73 



THE VISION. 



While musing, how the ^^ears had flown, 

With scarce a trace of victory, 
And garlands I had wove were prone 

To wither in obscurity. 
A vision rose of noble mien, 

And sang to harp, "dismiss thy fears ; 
Let not ungarnered hopes restrain 

The efforts of the coming years." 

Then all was changed, a stately hall 

Rose in the incandescent space ; 
'He Cometh now," aloud they call. 

While joy illumes each anxious face. 
And as he spoke, Promethean fire 

Leaped from his lips, and lo! again 
The vision smote the trembling lyre : 

"Familiar he with toil and pain." 



74 THE VISION. 



A study, wherein works of Art 

And bric-a-brac and books abound, 
Came next in view and stood apart, 

The envy of the world around. 
And seated in his easy chair, 

A famous author plies his pen — 
"He, too, has wrestled with despair;" 

The vision sang, "take heart again. 



THE MUTINEEB. 75 



THE MUTINEER. 



Thar wuz a man that run on the Mississippi ez 

mate, 
He wuz'nt much on book larnin' an' he didn't 

set up late 
Postin' hisse'f on hist'rj an' civerlization, 
Bat when it kem to sportin' news he beat all 

creation ; 
An' ef ye went to his bunk ye wuz jes sure to 

fin' 
All the leadin' papers in that air partic'ler line. 

He wuz on his mussle somewhat, which is an ol' 

complaint 
With them Mississippi river boatmen— thar's 

few that aint — 
An' he could git mor' work out o' his men on 

b'iled beans 
An' hard tack, 'an any mate from St. Louis ter 

Orleans. 
His voice, it war jes immence an' kem up outer 

his boots, 
An' 'specially when he yelled "kem, git thar, 

ye d — d galoots." 



76 THE MUTINEER. 

One day he said to a rous' about who hed on his 

back 
A four-bushel sack o' co'u — a big load, but it's 

a fact, 
How that he 'lowed that air gait o' his'n wuzn't 

jes up to time, 
When they got inter a dispute that I'll not put 

in rhynie, 
But I'll state no mor' co'n wuz carried on that 

boat that day, 
Fur all the crew wuz occypied in seein' 'em hev 

fa'r play. 

They shook things up lively fur more'n three 

quarters o' an hour, 
An' rammed thar heads right inter 'bout a dozen 

ber'ls o' flour, 
An^ the grain 'n' things that wuz spilt 'roun* the 

lower deck 
Made it look like the boat hed struck a snag an' 

gone to wreck, 
An' this here mate who never yit hed los' a 

single fight 
Saw that his chences fur kemin' out second bes' 

war bright. 



THE MUTINEEB. 77 

So when hefoun' he couldn't git 'way with that 

rous' about, 
He begun to git oneasy an' cussed an' hollered 

out: 
"Say is yu-uns all gwine to stan' 'roun' this boat 

all day an' see 
This inserbor-nation ? I say thar, stop this here 

mutiny ! ' ' 
An' that is the moral that I hev been tryin' fur 

to paint, 
When them mates lick a man, it's all right, an' 

when they don't, it aint. 



78 THE TRAIN FIEND. 



THE TRAIN FIEND. 

O ! yes, he's there when you take your seat, 
And will go with you all the way. 

Until your journey you do complete. 
If you're pointed for Canada. 

He dumps his books promiscuously, 
And then vanishes through the door, 

And now we will have a rest, you say, 
But there's where you're off on your lore. 

In vain you plead that you cannot read. 
That you rarely indulge in fruit, 

He knows there's truck on which you'll feed, 
And hustles for something to suit. 

And when he closes his empty pack, 
And skips at the end of the run. 

You may learn by your depleted sack 
Of the havoc that he has done. 



WHAT BBOKE UP THE CHURCH AT SORBY. 79 



WHAT BROKE UP THE CHURCH 
AT SORBY. 

Thar's nothin' parfec' in thisworF is my ph'los- 
ophy, 

An' we're about ez ap' ez not, ter bark up the 
wrong tree : 

Fur things air alus happenin' that seem way out 
o' place, 

An' ter a moral, thinkin' man, a scandalous dis- 
grace. 

What I am drivin' at is this : jes set down, thar's 

a cha'r — 
An' I will do my level bes' ter make the whol' 

thing cl'ar. 
Fur time hez dulled my memory, an' cu'bed my 

use o' speech. 
An' many things I ust ter know, air now out o' 

my^reach. 



80 WHAT BROKE UP THE CHURCH AT SORBY. 

The craps war kemiii' on right fine, the co'nwar 

up knee high, 
The wheat war ripenin' han'somely, so war the 

oats an' rye, 
An everything war prosperin' jes ez the Lo'd 

hez said 
It should be with the hones' fo'ks ez arn thar 

daily bread. 

An' so his wo'd seemed jestified by everything 

aroun' , 
An' then ter make it mo'e complete, His grace it 

did aboun', 
Fur while the farmer bushed his peas an' sot up 

his bean poles, 
The pa' son war a prosperin', inrakin' in the souls. 

Bassy Prather, he kem for'ard, an' so did 

Larfin Bill 
Jones, an' all them scoffin' tanners frum over by 

the mill 
On Eagle Crick ; an' then thar war that wicked 

Sandy Moore, 
Who hedn't been inside a chu'rh fur twenty 

year afore. 



WHAT BROKE UP THE CHUBCH AT SOB BY. 81 

He kem up ter, an' 'lowed ez he'd throw up all 

his strife 
An' gredges, an' the likes o' that, an' lead a 

dif rent life, 
An' when the meetin' it war out, we every one 

dispu'sed, 
Fur Sorby, down on Hardon Crick, ter see 'em 

all immu'sed. 

The Pa' son waded in the crick; the people 

gath'r'd roun', 
An' stood whar an' uprooted tree hed riz a little 

moun', 
But when he took a brother by the han' ter lead 

him out, 
Ye'd a thought ol' Nick hisse'f war thar ef ye'd 

a hearn him shout. 

An' then the sisters, they broke in an' shook thar 

petticoats 
An' frum that on thar singin' warnt accordin' 

ter thar notes. 
or Grimes, he rubbed his cheek an' neck an' 

sot up sech a cry ; 
An' all at onct, the Pa' son put his han' up ter 

his eye. 



82 WHAT BROKE UP THE CHURCH AT SORBY. 

An' then he struck out lef an' right, an' pawed 

about the a'r 
Ez ef he hed the tremens, an' the snakes' they 

hed him thar. 
He jumped about three feet, an' then went 

under out o' sight, 
An' when the good man made the bank, ye 

orter'v seen him kite. 

Some went this way an' some went that, an' 

some rolled on the groun' , 
An' in two shakes o' a sheep's tail, thar warn't 

a soul aroun' , 
Thej^ hed stirred up a hornet's nes' thar in that 

little knoll, 
An' that's what caused ev'ry one ter lose thar 

se'f-control. 

It war a Presbyterian trick, at leas' I'm satisfied 
They planted that air ho' net's nes' down by the 

water's side, 
Fur ever sence the neighborhood, with sprink- 

lin' hez been cu'sed, 
While not a single critter thar hez ever been 

immu'sed. 



WHAT BROKE UP THE CHURCH AT SORBY. 83 

Thar's nothin' parfec' in this worl', ez my ph'l- 

osophy, 
But why the Lo'd permitted this, is a mystery 

ter me, 
Fur every member struck fur hum, an' lef us in 

the ki'ch, 
An' so that pesky ho'net's nes' broke up our 

Baptist chu'ch. 



84 TO MY BOOKS. 



TO MY BOOKS. 



'Tis not around the festive board, 

Where brilliant revelry attends, 
To pledge in superficial word 

And bated breath, I meet my friends ; 
A tiny room above the stair, 

Which out upon the city looks ; 
I nightly come and greet them there. 

My noble, trust}^ friends — my books. 

Iv'e plodded on my weary way ; 

Known fortune's smiles and fortune's frowns. 
Groped in darkness, basked in day ; 

In brief, I've had my ups and downs. 
Yet with a purpose fixed as fate, 

Y^ou pointed to the higher goal. 
Whence strive the gifted and the great, 

The noble and the pure of soul. 



TO MY BOOKS. 



You lured me first to virtue's side 

By visions of the pure ideal, 
And taught me by a wisdom wide, 

That the unseen is the real. 
Whatever be our woe or weal, 

Our aspirations or our fears. 
On all material things the seal 

Of death is set — and vain our tears. 

We've soared together starry heights, 

Explored the m3^steries of space ; 
Traced, through many sleepless nights. 

The singing spheres in endless chase. 
We've peeped into the opaque earth ; 

Gone out upon the trackless sea ; 
Strolled through brilliant halls of mirth, 

And wept midst scenes of misery. 

Through realms were reign the kings of thought, 
You've led me with a loving hand — 

Where learning's priceless gems are sought 
And science waves her magic wand. 



86 TO MY BOOKS. 



How apt a scholar I have been — 
If love and service be the gauging — 

For all may not the laurel win 

The honors in the war we're waging. 

But time is fleeting, I have known 

Full half the span the prophet told ; 
And, comrades, I am free to own, 

For it is true, "I'm growing old." 
Some night the lamp will not be lit, 

And vacant be the easy chair. 
And he who used to bide in it. 

Be gone, ah! who can answer where? 



KN-QX'S LANDING, MISSISSIPPI. 87 



KNOX'S LANDING, MISSISSIPPI. 



Knox's is what they call it, an' hev fur this forty 

years, 
An' alus will, I reckon, leastwise, sir, the name 

appears 
Ter stick ter this hyar landin' like the bark 

' aroun' a tree — 
An' ef its Knox ye air lookin' fur, howdy? fur 

that's me. 

Goin' down the river, eh, on the boat ter New 

Orleans ? 
Moughty pleasant trip ter take, fine climate an' 

splen'd scenes. 
I've made it many a time, in pioneer days, je 

know, 
Afore they thought o' railroads, an' when boats 

war made ter go. 



88 KNOX'S LANDING, MISSISSIPPI. 

But lookin' arter the farm liez kept me at hum 

o' late, 
Then ye know that keers with age air apt ter 

accumulate, 
An' seven thousan' acres ain't no truck patch, 

ye' 11 allow, 
When labor's ez unsartin ez its gittin' ter be now. 

So ye'r' an editor, an' want ter write 'bout 

we-uns hyar, 
An' put us in the paper? Waal, I'drether ye 

would' nt, sir- 
But ef ye mus' hev readin, why then, lemme see 

— oh, waal, 
Mebbe I mought gin ye suthin"bout good enough 

ter tell. 

Suthin' like them air novils ez ye city fellers 

writes, 
'Bout shipwrecks an' adventures an' all them 

sort o' sights, 
Fus' rate ter pass the time on, when ye' ve nothin' 

else, mebbe, 
So then git out yer pencil, ye shell hev it ; lemme 



KNOX'S LANDING, MISSISSIPPI. 89 

We fiis' kern hyav in forty an' it happened jes 
this way, 

An' a lunlier spot ye would' nt fin' in all America. 

We war jes like that air fus' pa'r in thar prime- 
val hum, 

Without the fruit an' shrubbery, but all them 
things hev kem. 

Waal, ye've heard about the bustin' o' the 

Washington? Eh, O, 
Yehaint? I don't wonder, fur it war a long 

time ago. 
I war pilot on that boat when she let her kittles 

fly. 

An' I'll not furgit it, straunger, ontil the day I 
die. 

Jes how many thar war los' the accounts all 

disagree. 
But I know I reached the shor', an' another one 

with me. 
An' as ter who it war, ye' 11 learn afore my story's 

through, 
An' don't think that I'm romancin', fur ev'ry 

word is true. 



90 KNOX'S LANDING, MISSISSIPPI. 

Waal, the fus thing that I knowed, I war 
floatin' in the stream, 

When I notic'd jes ahead, suthin' in the fire- 
light gleam — 

Fur the wreck war all ablaze— an' it drifted 
silently, 

Like a bunch o' airy foam, keepin' company 
with me. 

An' I dunno why it war, but somehow I felt 

empelled 
Ter swim in that derection, an' I reached it an' 

then j^elled, 
Fur jes then a suddent blaze lighted up the 

lunly place. 
An' I saw it war a female starin' me in the face. 

She never riz a whimper, an' war woman-like, 

resigned, 
But I didn't hev the heart fur ter leave her thar 

behin' , 
An' I said, I'm gwine ter take this hyar helpless 

one ashor' 
Or thar's two o' us shell drown ; an' look thar, 

outside the door — 



KNOX'S LANDING, MISSISSIPPI. 91 



That's her thai* in the garden — she's a little 

ol'er now, 
Not much ter be writin' 'bout at sixty, ye' 11 

allow — 
Thar's the bell, the boat's ready ter continer on 

her trip. 
An' ef ye print my story, call it Knox o' Mis- 

sissip. 



WHAT THE CLOCK SAID. 



WHAT THE CLOCK SAID. 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! " 
Always the same monotonous click — 
Toiling on in the old fashioned way, 
With never a moment for rest or play, 
And with never a word but this to say : 
"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! " 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!" 
Oh, pause, for my heart is sore and sick ! 
I'm nearing the end of life's brief race, 
And why will you chase, and chase, and chase? 
The answer came from the crystal face : 
"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!" 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!" 
Stop, I say ! 'Tis a scurrilous trick ! 
Hast thou no feeling nor sj^mpathy 
For mortal man in his misery? 
Stay, unfold the great mystery ! 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick?!" 



WHAT THE CLOCK SAID. 93 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!" 

Oh, then, 'tis onward you lead us, quick — 

Teach us to look to the other side 

Of the river they call so dark and wide. 

I paused, and thus the clock replied : 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!" 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!" 

The night is gathering 'round me thick ! 

Oh, say, shall I see the outer day? 

Shall the soul live that has learned to pray ? 

The old clock has but this to say : 

"Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!" 



94 ZEKE SLABSIDES. 



ZEKE SLABSIDES. 



Tim Juggles was a butcher's son, of Southern 

Illinois, 
Who spent his early youth in winning pins from 

other boys, 
Till the fuz 'pon his upper lip began to venture 

out, 
When he went into the bus'ness of a steamboat 

roustabout. 
He took his reg'lar rations in, of hard-tack, hash 

and junk, 
And stole promiscuously his naps from sack pile, 

plank and bunk. 
Till finally he found his wealth in currency did 

range 
Near sixteen dollars and six bits, all in good 

silver change. 



ZEKE SLABSIDES. 95 

Tim sat a moment on the deck, still gazing on 

his tin, 
Then grasp'd a pen, and wrote and sent his 

resignation in : 
And from a busted gambler he purchased dice 

and truck, 
And opened right upon the spot a bank of 

chuckaluck. 
For months he prospered handsomely in raking 

in the cash. 
When to his finances there came one day an 

awful smash ; 
And just to show that wealth has wings, and 

very often flies, 
I'll give the circumstance in full, which hap- 
pened in this wise : 

Zeke Slabsides was dishwasher upon that same 
steamboat — 

Of bell-crown'ed fashion was his hat, and coun- 
try jeans his coat. 

But the way he made the suds fly, cans' d all to 
stop and look. 

And vow that he was business in what he under- 
took. 



96 ZEKE SLABSIDES. 

One day, when the cook's eye was turned away 

from Zekiel's tub, 
He sold to a deck passenger a quarter's worth of 

grub, 
And straightway started for the stern, till just 

abaft tlie crank. 
He squatted down upon the deck, and went for 

Juggles' bank. 

Zeke slapped his quarter on the ace, and rushed 

the gambling through 
Upon a scale that soon made Tim shell out his 

bottom sou ; 
And when the cook went back to see what Zekiel 

could be at. 
He found him with all Juggles' wealth stowed in 

his bell-crowned hat. 
When Juggles saw his bank was broke, ses he, 

"There's something wrong," 
And straightway curs'd a stream of oaths, un- 
usually long. 
He swore that he could lick the Jake that play'd 

that thing on him ; 
And, reaching forth for Zekiel, took him in the 

jaw, ca-him! 



ZEKE SLABSIDES. 97 

Zeke set his hat upon a box, and on Tim set his 

eye, 
And said, "ef ye hev any friends, jest bid them 

now good-b3'e," 
And, striking from his shoulder, give him such 

a lively clout : 
That Juggles found to his surprise that he was 

knocked clear out. 
The moral of this story is, as plainly can be 

seen. 
That if all is not gold that shines, some ripe 

fruit may look green. 
And those who spend their energies in prating of 

ill-luck, 
May see how easy fortune yields, when once 

attacked with pluck. 



98 CAUGHT UNAWABES. 



CAUGHT UNAWARES. 

Why, Dora, love, this look of secrecy? 

Shedding thy furtive glances here and there ; 

Say, has obtrusion caught thee unaware? 
Oh, pet, I see all is not well with thee. 

Doth doubt my love, I'll seal it with a kiss, 
And warrant not to disarrange thy bangs. 
What's the reason she still fire hangs? 

I ne'er before knew her so coy as this. 

Nay, tell me all, doth the long-buried years 
Hold in their calm embrace, an earlier flame? 
And was thou fondly gazing on the same 

In photograph? If nay, oh, whence these fears? 

Why push the sofa closer to the wall 

And motion with thine eyes towards the door ? 

I never saw you act this way before ; 
Oh, Dora, dear, have you no word at all? 



CAUGHT UKAWABES. 99 

Keep ine not in suspense ; what is it, sweet, 
That puts you at this time so off your feed? 
Whence these mj^ster'us bundles, what's the 

Covering everything up so complete? [need 

' 'Hist ! hist ! ' ' she said, as twitching at my sleeve, 
"Keep quiet, or 3'ou'll give us clean away ; 
I have been hiding things the livelong day ; 

Dearest, do you forget 'tis Christmas eve? " 



100 PICKET 8 POSTOFFICEy TENNESSEE. 



PICKET'S POSTOFFICE, TENNESSEE. 

Picket's? waal, this is it, 
But the orfice is whar 

Ye see that smoke risin' 
Frum the shed over thar, 
Leas' sence the row war hyar. 

Ef men can't git along 
Without thar reg'lar fight, 

Why don't they fust a'journ 
Ter a convenient site 
Afore they vent thar spite? 

Leastwise, at honest folks, 
Who's morally inclined. 

An hold different views 
On matters o' this kind. 
An don't drink till thar blind 

Ez them-uns did that night, 

When they bu'nt down the stor' — 

Thar war twenty o' em, 
Aq some say thar war mo' 
Hitched thai- nags 'roun' the do'. 



PICKETS POSTOFFICE, TENNESSEE. 101 

Some went ter pitchin quoits, 

An' some sot on a rail, 
An' drunk tbar straight "moonshine" 

Frum the distil' ry pail 

An' waited fur the mail. 

Now, ev'rything went smooth 
Till I fouched in the bags. 

Then the boys kem an' sot 
Aroun' on the nail kegs, 
Full 'n lim'er, ter, ez rags. 

An' jawed an' growled an' cussed 

Ontil I said thar's two 
Letters this time, all tol'. 

An' Reno, thar fur ye — 

An' he tuk em frum me. 

Then Bowles, he made a speech, 
An' went on ter declar' 

That ev'rything fur one 
An' none for none else thar 
Warn't 'zactly on the squar'. 



102 PICKET S POSTOFFICE, TENNESSEE. 

An' ez fur the orfice, 

Why h — 11 wiir full o' sech ; 

An' so it war o' mails 

Like them air Yankees fetch — 
Bad senterments ter tech. 

Fur, 'fore ye could say it, 
A keg upsot the lamp ! 

An' the place war afire — 

I felt 'twar time ter tramp — 
Didn't save a postage stamp. 

An' this is all 'ats lef, 
An' it grieves me ter see 

N'thin but a heap o' rocks 
Whar the orfice ust t'r be — 
No more P. M. fur me. 



THE MYSTEBIOUS SUICIDE. 103 



THE MYSTERIOUS SUICIDE. 



'Twas evening in St. Louis, and the streets were 
all aglow 

With the votaries of fashion that were strolling 
to and fro, 

Sleek men and stylish women passed in pano- 
ramic view, 

With an ease that indicated they'd nothing else 
to do. 

But among them loitered one, who seemed in- 
different 

To everything about him, as his nervous steps 
he bent. 

His right hand grasped a grip-sack, while all his 
clothing showed, 

By their travel-stained appearance, he'd been 
long upon the road. 



104 THE MYSTERIOUS SUICIDE. 

Not an eye of recognition beamed 'pon him 

from the throng, 
But keeping pace he murmured, in a monotone, 

a song, 
A maudlin repetition, and the words he spoke 

were these : 
" We are bound for an island in the far off 

Southern seas." 

Thus he hummed till the twilight settled down 

and all dispersed, 
And then he fell to weeping, till I thought his 

heart would burst. 
"Oh!" he cried, "the}' have left me here to 

bear it all alone," 
And, overcome with anguish, he sat down upon 

a stone. 

His pallid brow was furrowed deep with many 
lines of care, 

And round about it clustered tufts of premature 
gray hair ; 

While his thin and haggard features and un- 
kempt locks combined 

To convince me some great sorrow was preying 
on his mind. 



THE MYSTEBIOUS SUICIDE. 105 

And I said, " AVhat's the matter, mister, tell 
me, I implore, 

Have your mines in Colorado failed to pan out 
paying ore? 

Dost pine for lack of capital to put down an- 
other hole — 

Or have you been familiar with the rosy flowing 
bowl ? 

" Perhaps it was on ' futures ' that you staked 
your little pile, 

And the result retired you from the market for 
awhile ; 

Or it may be you're in mourning for some de- 
parted trust 

That fed your mind on lux'ry and your stomach 
on a crust." 

" Friend, you're wrong," he said; "it isn't dis- 
sipation that ails me. 

Nor have financial failures brought about the 
wreck you see ; 

On the other hand I flourish on the summit of 
the boom, 

'Til this ceaseless clamor struck me, and I fled 
in search of room. 



106 THE MYSTERIOUS SUICIDE. 

" I have left home and kiudred— traveled far 

and traveled wide, 
But I hear it still ringing in my ears on every 

side ; 
All the earth is impregnated, and the very winds 

are schooled 
To go howling in my ears : Jay Gould, Jay 

Gould, Jay Go-uld!" 

Here he rose, and, pressing forward, quickly 

sought the towering crest 
Of the famous iron structure, saying, " Surely, 

here is rest ; 
For the tired heart o'erburdened 'tis a blessed 

privilege — ' ' 
" Yer's your extra! latest news, Jay Gould has 

bought the bridge!" 

" Well, I'm blowed," he said, and straightway 
laid his coat and hat aside — 

Took a last look at the city, scanned the country 
far and wide ; 

Climbed o'er the outer railing, gave one tremen- 
dous skip. 

Turned a somersault and lit in the turbid 
Mississip'. 



HE WANTED TO BE COUNTED IN. 107 



HE WANTED TO BE COUNTED IN. 



Thar war a feller named Si Blivin 'at follered 

flat-boatin' on the Mississip', 
He war the durndes' critter fur makin a noise, 

and war alus holerin' "let 'er rip!" 
Thar war nuthin* ye could git up but this galoot 

'ou'd be browsin' 'roun', and dog my skin, 
Ef ye'd start a game o' keard er any other kin' 

o' amusement, he war dead sure fer ter 

want ter be counted in. 

But when the boat got in a clus' plac' an' pullin' 

war ter be done, then 'u th'r 
He'd rassle with a sweep till the ol' skow'd 

shake like a steam engine hed holt o' her, 
An' ter see him lay fur an oar looked like deer 

goin' ter bounce a stake 'n rail fence. 
And he snap 'em in two in a business-like way, 

jes ez though he didn't keer a continental 

'bout the expense. 



108 HE WANTED TO BE COUNTED IN. 

But the parties' thing war ter watch him hist a 

jug an' drink out o' it with one han', 
Wun o' thein accomplishments that nius' be seed 

'fore ye kin fully understan'. 
An' je could hear the liquor a sloshin' down his 

inerds jes edzacly ez though 
He war holler plum ter his feet an' thar was 

plenty o' room ter stow it 'way down thar 

below. 

Whenever the ol' "broadho'n" hed ter kem ter 

fur wind' er au^ thing o' that kin' , 
Si'd shoulder his gun 'n strike for the swamp, 

with his yeller dog foUerin' behin' , 
An' they waltz aroun' in the Cottonwood ontil 

they struck a fat buc' er a bar, 
When he'd blaze 'way and fur the next week er 

two thar' be game fur the boat's crew 

an' ter spar'. 

Ye never seed sech a critter ter git his work in, 

jes ez ef it war boy's play. 
Fur he war one o' them narterel bo'n genuses 

that everything seems ter run thar way. 



HE WANTED TO BE COUNTED IN. 109 

A philosopher plum' through an' looked on every- 
thing ez a plain matter o' fac', 

An he'd snatch a hen roost bal' headed whenever 
he felt that it war chickens that the crew 
o' the boat mos' lacked. 

One day they kem ter at Napole'n jes ter take 

a little res' an' see the sights, 
Fur it war a lively place, full o' saloons 'n all 

kin' o' games 'n free fights. 
Si tried his han' at mos' everj^thing, but didn't 

hoi' his reg'lar luc' an' couldn't win. 
So he goes cavortin' roun' till he struck a row 

an' said ef they hed no objections he like 

ter be counted in. 

An' he shed his duster an' in he sailed for an 

hour, or mebbe it war mor', 
An' all the time he war busier 'n he'd been fur 

several season afor'. 
When, at las' the smoke hed cleared away, the 

pieces war picked up an' stowed in a pile. 
But they couldn't find enough o' any one critter 

so 's ter put him tergether in any sort o' 

style. 



no HE WANTED TO BE COUNTED IN. 

Si seein' how things war with nothin' ter draw 
ter but one leg, said with a sickly grin; 

"Waal, now, ef this hyar's a funeral that ye air 
a fixin' fur jq kin jes count me in." 

An' they planted him down thar in Arkansas 
under the cottonwoods an' mosses, 

An' straunger, when ye kem ter talk 'bout yer 
good men, don't furgit ol' Si Blivin, fur I 
tell ye he war one o' the hosses. 



THE MEMBER FROM COHOES. Ill 



THE MEMBER FROM COHOES. 



'Twar in the Capitol 

That this epersocle occurred, 

An' that I tuk a han' mj^self , 
It mus'nt be inferred, 
I state jes what I've heard, 

The legislators all 'd met. 
Each member hed his cha'r, 

When Colonel Brooks o' Choctaw said 
"Who's that over thar? 
Is this hyar on the squar' ? ' ' 

He p'nted ter a person. 
With glasses on his nose, 

Who answered: "I's de mem'er 
Frum de Par'h o' Cohoes, 
Who else 'ould ye suppose." 



112 THE MEMBEB FROM COHOES. 

Then Gen'ral Parsons riz 'n said: 
"I 'low ez that ain't so, 

That darky setting in that cha'r 's 
My ol' barber Jo — 
The Yankees freed, ja know." 

Ef a pin 'd been inserted 
In each white member's seat. 

He couldn't any quicker 
Hev risen ter his feet. 
The upris'n war complete. 

The little scene that follered, 

I'm sorry ter relate, 
Did not reflec' credit 

On the helmsmen o' a state, 

Assembled fur debate. 

When order war resumed 
It war plain thar war in store 

A number of repairs, 

But that member never more 
Warmed a seat 'pon that floor. 



THE MYSTIFIED TRAVELLEB. 113 



THE MYSTIFIED TRAVELLER. 



A gamin rushing through the street, 

The latest news proclaimed, 
And to the people that he'd meet 

This startling caption named : 
•'All about the coffer-dam. 

With full accounts to date 
Of the great feat of Uncle Sam — 

Blowin' up Hell-Gate!" 

To whom a countryman replied : 

"I'll buy 3'our latest news. 
Now can you help me to decide 

Which of these streets to choose, 
Which takes me to the river pier? — 

I fear I'm somewhat late." 
'Keep right ahead — papers yer? 

All about Hell-Gate." 



114 THE MYSTIFIED TBAVELLER. 

"Manhattan's isle is densely packed, 

Manhattan's isle is small, 
And yet creation has been sacked 

To fill her houses tall. 
Whence comes this crowd of dubious worth, 

As though to tempt their fate ? 
Has Castle-Garden belched them forth?" 

'"Splosion at Hell Gate." 

"Your summer sun beats fierce and hot ; 
Some cooler clime I'd seek, 
Where pyramids of brick are not, 

And board is less per week. 
Which passage would you recommend ? — 
For I must emigrate." 
"Crowds from the city daily wend, — 
Big travel through Hell-Gate." 

"One question more I'd ask, young man — 

Which way sail they, I pray? 
Steam they beneath the bridge's span, 

Or down the open bay? 
Fair winds have blown in golden fruit 

From many a tropic state — 
Where spy we first the shallop's shoot?" 

"All about Hell-Gate." 



THE MYSTIFIED TRAVELLER. 116 

"Indeed? why, then, I must decline," 

The traveller replied, 
And striking out in a bee line, 

To Jersey City hied ; 
And when his stalwart form that night 

A Pullman sleeper pressed. 
He sighed — '-Hell-Gate not for me, quite ; 

I'd rather chance the West," 



116 LINGUISTIC LOBE. 



LINGUISTIC LORE. 

Erastus Fitzhugh was his name, 
A societ}^ man of local fame. 

Parted his hair in the middle, wore 
Mutton chop whiskers, age thirty-four. 

He attended parties, dinners, balls, 
Operas, plays and lecture halls. 

Again, for variety, would spend 
An evening with some lady friend. 

But his better hold was the charming way 
He got in his work on New Year's Day. 

And candor compels me here to state 
He started early and went it late. 

And, viewing the viands, he would say, 
"Ah! madam, this is ah! recherche.'' 

So from house to house Mr. Fitzhugh went. 
And paid to each the same compliment. 



LINGUISTIC LOBE. 117 

Till a hundred matrons, one and all, 
Boasted of Mr. Fitzhugh's call, 

And said, in a kind of taunting way, 
That he called her table recherche, 

And the happy creatures still adore 
Mr. Fitzhugh, of linguistic lore. 

Never suspecting the French displayed 
Was his only foreign stock in trade. 



118 FIT WITH GRANT. 



FIT WITH GRANT. 



Have you seen the Gin'rel? Waal, he's now iu 
town, 
Come out from Washington on a little chase. 
We met jes' now ez I wuz a comin' down 

The street, the fus time sence the war, face 
to face. 
But it 'peard ez cf he did'nt remember me, 
Though I fit with him in eighteen sixty-three. 

I understan' they've 'pinted a committee 
To show him aroun' an' hev a bankit spread, 

An' tender him the freedom o' the city 
In recognition o' the part that he played 

In savin' this hyar great Ian' o' liberty — 

When we wuz fitin' it out in sixty-three. 



FIT WITH GBANT. 119 

An' yit, I've no pension ner quarter section, 
Ner any interes' in Uncle Sam's farms. 

You see, him an' me severed our connection, 
An' swung apart afore Lee laid down his arms, 

Which seems mighty curious, I mus' agree. 

Fur a man who'd fit with Grant in sixty-three. 

I've often seen the Gin'rel during battle — 
Fur he was ginerally at the front, 'bout then, 

An' seemed to rether like the roar an' rattle — 
An' I low he looks 'bout the same now ez when 

I fit with him away back in sixty-three — 

Doin' my level bes' fur Gin'rel Lee ! 



120 ATONEMENT. 



ATONEMENT. 



A worthy woman, sick and poor, 
Begged her bread from door to door. 

One said: "We'd nothing left to-da3\" 
The woman bowed, and walked away. 

Another — "We have guests within ; 
Move on and don't be bothering." 

Entering an adjoining gate, 

She climbed the steps and stood and wait. 

But when the servant came, she said: 
"Every one has gone to bed." 

Thus fruitlessly the woman sought 
For food, for no one gave her aught. 

And, overcome with woe, she bowed 
Her weary head and wept aloud. 

And cried, "They will not— can not — feel 
That never wanted for a meal !" 



ATONEMENT. 121 



But, turning to retrace her way, 
She saw a house, wliere brilliantly 

The lights were burning, and the air 
Was musical with voices there. 

"Oh! surely they will not deny 
Me help!" she said, and presently 

Sought the door, and rung the bell. 

The mistress came, and said : "Pray, tell 

Me what it is that I can do 

At this late hour, madam, for you?" 

The simple story was retold. 

The mistress answered, "Here is gold. 

Go purchase for your children bread." 
The woman turned and quickly fled, 



Forgetting all she had endured 
In the blessing thus secured. 



MORAL. 



Though many heeded not her call, 
The one who gave atoned for all. 



122 THE TRUE CBEED. 



THE TRUE CREED. 



A toiler wrought 

Till his thrift brought 
Wealth and position, when he sought 
The polite quarter of the town, 
And in good fashion settled down. 

An idler passed, 

And said: " I fast, 
And roam the streets a poor outcast, 
In a land of plenty. But there 
Is a place '11 know no millionaire." 

In time they died, 

And straightway hied 
The man who wrought to Peter's side. 
Who said : " Pass to thy higher state ;' 
But the idler never reached the gate. 



WATERING THE STOCKS. 123 



WATERING THE STOCKS. 



Jones said the hall was splendid — nothing like 

it in the land — 
And only lacked a fountain to make it really 

grand ; 

In the center it should stand. 

Then Watts drew up a paper, and remarked, 

"We'll have that, too, 
And raise it by subscription ;" when the Deacon 

said, " Don't you, 

I will put the whole thing through." 

That's how the Mississippi came to flow abund- 
antly 

Through the commercial temple ; but it never 
did agree 

With the 'Change fraternity. 



124 WATEBING THE STOCKS. 

While the scene that came about on the dedica- 
tion day 

Should never be repeated by those gentlemen 
if they 

Wouldn't give themselves away. 

'Twas shocking how the Major took a sup, then 

wheeled about 
And made a hasty exit ; telling those along the 

route, 

*' Boys, I pass, that lifts me out." 

Next came a German brother, who exclaimed, 

" Das ist nicht bier. 
Donner uud blitzen ! ich bin seek !" and he, too, 

did disappear 

With some others in his rear. 

And they followed till the room was as bare as 
it could be. 

When the President arose, and addressed him- 
self to me : 

" Why is this stampede? " said he. 



WATEBINQ THE STOCKS. 126 

I pointed to the fountain, and replied: "The 

trouble's there ; 
You have watered all their stocks, and there's 

music in the air — 

All is panic ever^nvhere. 

That's all I know about it, and I hope you will 

refrain 
Hereafter from alluding to the circumstance 

again, 

Yours truly, I remain. 



126 THE MABTYB. 



THE MARTYR 

A shadow of her former self, 

She plied her household cares, 

And daily scoured each cupboard shelf. 
And polished up the wares, 

And diUgently gave her thoughts 
To these minute affairs. 

She took no note of social life, 
Which many love to court, 

A higher aim, a nobler strife, 
Had come to be her forte, 

And patiently she toiled and strove 
To gain a good report. 

No more she sought her husband's smile, 
The children ceased to cheer. 

The parlor could no more beguile. 
Her place was in the rear. 

Where her fixed purpose she pursued 
No matter who was near. 



THE MARTYR. 127 



Each evening saw her thinner grow, 
The lines more tightly drawn 

Abou t her face ; the former glow 
Of her bright eyes was gone. 

When, lo! there came a sudden cry, 
And her life's work was done. 

They found her stretched upon the floor, 

A masher in her hand, 
A cockroach she had failed to gore 

Smiled from a crevice, and 
A handsome young wife reigns supreme 

Where once she did command. 



]28 THE WABASH BANGER. 



THE WABASH RANGER. 

A demon they called him — that wuz the word, 
He hed no feelin' fur man or woman, 

An' the Sheriff agreed he'd never heard 
O' a critter that wuz so inhuman. 

Why, he tho't nothin' of dousin' a glim 
An' sett'n a widder ter wearin' sable. 

Ez fur orphans, 't warn't worry in him 
Ef they foun' no vituals on the table. 

He'd pull out his navy an' bang away, 

An' bore a hole through a healthy granger, 

Then express regrets that he couldn't stay 
Ter the funeral, this Wabash Ranger. 

But one mornin' the prison henges swung 
An' a lady enter' d whos' grace 'n beauty 

War whisper' d 'rouu' on ev'ry tongue, 

An' all bowed thar heads ez 't wuz their duty. 



THE WABASH BANGEB. 129 

An' she raised her eyes till they caught the gaze 
O' the outlaw who his cell wuz pacin', 

When he suduntly stop'ed his nervous ways, 
An the two stood still each other facin'. 

Then she laid her hand on the iron door, 

'Twuz white as snow an' a diamon glistened, 

An a look that he mo'ght hev seen afor' 

Beamed frum her ej-es ez he stood an' listened. 

"Here is a bunch of flowers and there are clothes, 
Go cleanse your body and heal yowx gashes, 

And here is a Bible, God only knows," — 
An' the tears fell fas' frum her silken lashes. 

Then the outer hinges swung wide an' quick, 
Closed behind the mysterious straunger, 

An' ever sence that day a chil' could lick 
The game an' trucculent Wabash Ranger. 



130 TO BE GRAY. 



TOBE GRAY. 



Es ter Tobe Gray, 
He worked hyar way 
Back at a time — 
A-settin rhyme 
An' prose an' ads, 
When mos' o' you uns hyar war tads. 

or Tobe warn't much 
On clothes an' sech, 
An' ust ter say : 
I'll spen' my pay 
Inside my vest — 
Things ez tastes good suits me the best." 

He'd nuss hez type 
When fat war ripe, 
Then take a walk 
Er set an' talk 
At the caboose 
Till ye'd think the ol' man's tongue war loose. 



TOBE GBAY. 131 



'Bout every thin' 
Wo'th mentionin', 
He'd talk about, 
Day in an' out, 
An' keep hez eye 
On the " growler " when it war nigh. 

But one day he 
Remarked ter me, 
"I'm all afire 
^Inside me hyar," 
An' gin ter shout 
"I'm pestered with the stumache drought.' 

We got him beer 
An' tried ter cheer 
His sperits up — 
He took a sup 
An' then he cried 
"It's my last take^ I 'low," an' died. 

He warn't perfec' — 
Ye kent expec' 
A man ter be 
That way ye see, 
More'n a woman — 
We loved him 'cause he war so human. 



132 DBAW ONE. 



DRAW ONE.* 



He rode into town from the Brazos, and 
Meekly called for his supper and bed — 

A dark-eyed gent with a nervous hand 
And a belt overflush with cold lead. 

His speech had the usual front- tier flow — 
As he said to the waiter man near, 

"Bring me some fried flitch and eggs and co- 
F-fee," — he stuttered perceptibly here. 

But there was eloquence in his eyes. 
And so the waiter man he caught on, 

And to the cook repeated the size 

Of the order, and ended, "Draw One!" 

But scarce had the echoes died away, 
When something tore past him whir-rr-iz, 

And though he doesn't claim it, I'm free to say, 
The best time out of Austin is his. 

And now when a gent with wild flowing hair 
Comes up from the land of the sun, 

"Coffee" is the word they're using where 
They formerly called out "Draw One !" 

*A Cnp of Coffee. 



THE MATE OF THE MARIA. 133 



THE MATE OF THE MARIA. 



Ez ter that yarn 'bout Knox, the mate, 
Fact is, boys, that I kin' o' hate 
Ter stir up by-gones ! 'Tain't no use 
Turnin' them air ol' times loose, 
Better let em res', fur durn my eyes, 
Ef ye shake the pas' the gos's '11 rise. 

But ef I mus', why then hyar goes, 
"Bad Knox" they called 'm, an' I 'spose 
He war rough! Why, he'd ruther fight 
'Un eat his supper any night ; 
An ef ye waut'd ter make him sick, 
Jes name some critter he couldn't lick. 

He'd lam a roust' r fur exercise. 
An* put down a riot 'fore 't could rise, 
Ef he had ter whale the whol' deck crew, 
An' bust up a game of chuc'luck, too, 
Then waltz back aft an' yell "freight pile,' 
When thar warn't a landin' in ten mile. 



134 THE MATE OF THE MARIA. 

He war a stun'r, sure' 3 yer bo'n, 

An' ye jes orter hev seed the ho'n 

He could hoi' — four fingers er mo' 

Of "Robinson County." Ye raought po'r 

Licker in 'm till ye'd bus' the bar, 

An' still he'd kem up smilin' thar. 

That war Knox ! Waal, one stormy night 
Jes ez Red River hev en sight, 
We sot 'roun the stove near the stun 
Watchin' the pitchy pine knots bu'n, 
Till one by one we drapped ter sleep 
Promiscusly ez a flock o' sheep. 



When on a sud'ent thar kem a crash, 
An then we felt the hot steam flash, 
People war scatter' d hyar an' thar — 
In the river an' everywhar, 
She'd bus' her bilers an' war on fire, 
An' that war the end of the ol' Mariar. 



But whar war Knox.? D' ye think he swum 
Ter the sho' an lef the res' ter kem? 
Not much, ye bet, that warn't his style, 
Ye could hear his voice 'bout ten mile — 
Hear that wicked ol' sinner shout, 
"Stan' by an' help these wimmen out." 



THE MATE OF THE MABIA. 136 

He pulled em from the bu'nin' wreck, 
An' tossen' 'em on the for'ard deck, 
Tol' 'em ter make fur the neardes' sho' 
While he went back ter s'arch fur mo'. 
Ye never seed a sight ter compar' 
With the way Knox got his work in thar. 

But soon the fire begun ter bite 

The water's edge, an' then the light 

Went out, an' darkness set'led in, 

But Knox kep' yel'in like all sin : 

*'Ef the darned galoots'd done 'z I said 

I'd hev saved 'em all !" Bad Knox war dead. 

Now, I don't kno' whar his sperit went. 
Fur he war ter durn busy ter repent, 
But I 'low ef ye could git the vote 
O' them he saved frum the bu'nin' boat. 
The verdic' 'uld be — bes' thing ter do, 
Fur ol' Saint Peter ter pass him through. 



136 TO A SOLDIER OF THE UNION. 



TO A SOLDIER OF THE UNION. 



'Twas not ambition, nor the tinsel show 

Of conquest to dispoil a weaker foe 

Nerved you to leave your hallowed home and go, 

Oh, warrior of our later, broader day, 

And bear our flag victorious in the fray. 

Nor yet for fame, the old, old theme and cry, 

That leads the noblest to dare and die, 

But love for man and for humanity 

And the oppressed. We know that thou didst feel 

The blow that smote the slave — the tyrant's heel. 

'Tis meet the laurel 'round the brow should cling, 
Whose only boast is that of suffering ; 
Who claims no battles won — no conquering — 
Taking the vanquished brother to thy breast. 
And trusting to the future all the rest. 



TO A SOLDIEB OF THE UNION: 137 

So shall thy deeds live on through coming years 
In spectral majesty — when disappears 
Thy bent and aged form, and dried the tears 
Which from affection's fountains still must flow, 
Till all who knew and loved thee are laid low. 



138 THE CHEGOT ELECTION. 



THE CHECOT ELECTION. 



Thar's nothin' really certain in this sinful 

worl' o' ours, 
An' a Christian may git euchred with a hand o' 

trumps an' bowers. 
An' there's times when moral suason ceases to 

perform its part, 
An' we air fo'ced to take a hand in the military 

art. 

To make more clear, a circumstance which I will 
jes explain, 

Occurred at Checot City at the close of a cam- 
paign. 

Our candidate fur Governor wuz Judge Albert 
Sidney Brent, 

While the radicals were boomin' that yeller 
Jones, o' Kent. 



THE CHE COT ELECTION. 139 

We knew that the majority war likely with the 

mob, 
An* thought it statesmanlike that we put up a 

little job. 
'*Fur truth an' jestice must prevail," said honest 

Pa' son Tripp, 
"Ef we heve ter ferry voters frum 'cross the 

Mississip'." 

The pollin' went on quietly ter closin' time, an we 

Felt certain we hed scooped 'em by a big ma- 
jority. 

"To the casual observer," said the Jedge, "all 
is fixed," 

But we subsequently learned that affairs war 
kind o' mixed. 

Fur when the vote war counted. Rice, that 
Yankee Jedge, announced 

"That all the ex-confed'rates hed been beau- 
tifully bounced." 

When Gineral Wirt, o' Natchez, immediately 
arose. 

An' vowed 'twar our allies hed Jones' mone}^ in 
thar clothes. 



140 THE CHECOT ELECTION. 

Then the Jedge looked much surprised an' he 

raised the cry o' fraud : 
Said the principles o' jestice war 'bout ter be 

outlawed. 
An' leapin' on a whiskey bar'l orated ter the 

crowd, 
How they'd been wrongly influ'nced in thar 

votin' he allowed. 

When ter the great surprise o' all, that barrel head 

went in, 
An' I grieve I hev ter say it, the Jedge settled 

ter his chin. 
When Sandy Smith, o' Rodney, gev the thing a 

healthy kick, 
An' 'way it went arollin' with the Jedge towards 

the crick. 

Hank Johnston yelled, "look out below," Jack 

Sanders, "let her rip," 
When I tu'ned an' saw both sides fur a fight 

begin ter strip. 
A pistol ball come whizzin' by an' cut away the 

skin 
O' this hyar ear ; ye see its gone — when every 

man waltzed in. 



THE CHE COT ELE C TION. 141 

Frum a second story winder Jones obsarved he 

"presumed" — 
When a boulder called upon him an' his remarks 

war doomed, 
An another colored statesman who said "I an- 

tic'pate" — 
An' broad "eyther" used fur "either" met with a 

similar fate. 

'Twar shockin' fur ter listen ter the navy pistols 

bark, 
An' I jedge that mighty few o' em ever missed 

thar mark. 
Fur when the sun went down upon the animated 

scene, 
Some twenty-three dead Africans war stretched 

out on the green. 

We corded up the corpses jes like ranks o' 

Cottonwood, 
An' the Coroner went through 'em in lots the 

best he could. 
Told the jury 'twar a cl'ar case, jes trot the 

thing along, 
An' they returned a verdict, "met thar death 

from vutin' wrong." 



142 THE CEECOT ELECTION. 

Thar's nothin' really certain in this sinful worl' 

o' ours, 
An' a Christian may git euchred with a han' o' 

trumps an' bowers ; 
When our noblest institutions air successfully 

assailed, 
An' a man is never happy until arter he's been 

whaled. 



THE PAUPEB. U3 



THE PAUPER. 



Aged and poor, and broken down, 
And scarcely noticed by the town, 

For home and friends he'd none, 
A relic of departed years. 
This the sound that greets his ears — 

*'I say, old man, move on !" 

Sometimes he asked for charity, 
But 'las for human sympathy ! 

For dumb was every one, 
Save the voice which repeated o'er 
The language uttered just before, 

*'I say, old man, move on!" 

But in good time, kind nature brought 
Surcease of sorrow, and they sought 

To solve the mystery, 
*'Died of want," the jury returned, 
^'General Brown," his name they learned, 

Confed'rate Cavalry. 



144 DEACON BABKEB' 8 PHILOSOPHY. 



DEACON BARKER'S PHILOSOPHY. 

I hoi' the worl' ain't goin' back, 
Ez some fo'ks say ; taint a fact, 
It's goin' for'ard right along 
With all its sinfulness an' wrong ; 
An' ef the good Lo'd now an' then 
Draws in the lines, le's say, Amen, 

An' stop our headlong pace, an' wait 
Till we kin see our way mo' straight. 
An' spen' some time a givin' thanks 
Fur what we hev, an' not like cranks 
Go fin'in fault with God 'n man 
'Thout lendin' either one a han'. 

'Taint the hones' thing ter do, 
Er treatin' Him ez He treats you, 
Who sen's the changin' seasons 'roun' 
To bless the country an' the town, 
'An marks the little sparrer's fall. 
An' loves His chil'ren one an' all. 



DEACON BABKEB'S PHILOSOPHY. 145 

Thar's mo' o' sunshine than o' cloud 
In this or world, I've alus 'lowed, 
But when we leave the narrer track, 
Thar's alus trouble gittin' back. 
An' takes a little sufferin' 
For' we git started on agin'. 



146 THE BAID OF THE HOPPEB. 



THE RAID OF THE HOPPER. 



'Twas just beyond the Kansas line, or some- 
where thereabout, 

A veteran hopper squole a squeal, then shrieked 
an awful shout, 

Calling all his tribe to arms, from the Rocky 
Mountain peaks 

To the sacred reservations, set apart for Sioux 
and Creeks. 

There was marshalling in the valley, there was 
darkness in the air. 

And soon about ten hundred billion fresh re- 
cruits were there. 

Old Xerxes with his legions could not have taken 
a trick, 

For they were piled upon the ground full twent}^- 
three miles thick. 



THE BAID OF THE HOPPER. U7 

Well, one morning bright and early, as Sol be- 
gan to throw 

His regenerating glances on the broad expanse 
below, 

The commander looked about him from the limb 
of a huge oak. 

And to his lusty followers, his little piece he 
spoke : 

"Brave comrades, there lies Kansas, rich in es- 
culents and grains. 

And beyond far-famed Missouri stretches out 
her fertile plains, 

We'll go through it like a whirlwind, so forward, 
follow me!" 

You'd've thought the way they skipped, that 
each hopper was a flea. 

And they raided like true bummers — laid 
fields and gardens waste — 

Never left behind a nibble, for either man or 
beast, 

Of anything to subsist on — who seeing their sad 
fate. 

Concluded they had better get right up and em- 
igrate. 



148 THE BAID OF THE HOPFER. 

Some struck the river and come south, and some 

went overland, 
And people seeing them hard up, reached out a 

helping hand, 
Until the conquering hopper held undisputed 

sway 
Of all the territory that thereabouts did lay. 

This is how the matter rested on closing the 

campaign ; 
But early in the coming spring, the hoppers 

hopped again. 
Then they crossed into Missouri, which made 

our Governor rave. 
And vow that Providence alone our noble State 

could save. 

And straight he set apart a day for fasting and 
for prayer. 

Requesting every citizen "to try his hand some- 
where. 

For the race ain't always to the swift, nor the 
battle to the strong, 

And a little good old-fashioned grace might help 
the thing along." 



THE SAID OF THE HOPFEE. 119 

But some speculating Yankee, of an inquiring 

mind, 
Began to make experiments on the dead he 

found behind. 
He Avas an entomologist of eminent degree, 
And very soon obtained results surprising for to 

see. 

He scooped a peck of hoppers, and to a baker 
hied, 

Had some made into pudding, some in dumpling, 
and some fried ; 

Then he spread a splendid banquet, of dishes 
he'd prepared, 

Which a number of professors and men of learn- 
ing shared. 

One passed upon a second joint, and another on 

a wing, 
And sending up their plates again, pronounced 

it just the thing; 
And before the meal was over, each guest had 

made a boast 
That he much preferred fried hopper to snipe 

or quail on toast. 



150 THE BAID OF THE HOPPER. 

This left our Governor in a lix — not knowing 

what to do, 
For what he took to be a curse, had proved a 

blessing true. 
*'ButyetImay amend," said he, "this error, 

though a whopper — 
By bidding all to thank the Lord for sending us 

the hopper." 



>v 



CAPTAIN BOB BILEY. 151 



CAPTAIN BOB RILEY. 

An' so ye never heard that yarn 
'Bout ol' Captain Bob — well, I'm durn ! 
How long have ye been livin' here? 
Hain't ye givin' me the queer? 
Hones' injin? Waal then say you- 
Un's shall heve it an' min' its true. 

Bob, he runs in the Anchor Line — 

An' hez ever sence fifty- nine, 

He's pa'ticlar too, an' talk 'bout style, 

O, I guess not! waal, I should smile! 

Why, look here, straunger, he's been known 

To look at a boat 'n gev her tone. 

That wuz Bob fur 'bout twenty year, 
Till somehow 'er 'nuther — it wuz queer. 
His luck it changed ; an' so one trip 
He got in a storm that did rip 
His chimneys cl'ar off to the deck. 
An' dumped 'em overboard a wreck. 



152 CAPTAIN BOB BILEY. 

She wuz repaired an' left agin, 

But struck a gale, an' durn my skin 

Ef she didn't come home 'thout her stacks. 

Says Bob, "it's chimneys that she lacks." 

"Yes," sez the boss, "it seems to me 

She's bent on bein' a muly." 

Waal, up they hist's another set. 

An' farst'nd 'em to staj^, ye bet. 

When the boss says, "I 'low they'll stay 

Till ye git back home, anyway. 

So down the river the boat flew. 

An' tossin' high smoke, I tell you. 

At fus' the weather it wuz fa'r, 
An' so Bob, he sets in his chair 
On the roof. It's big, fur ye see 
Bob weighs two hundred and ninety. 
That's jes his size, an' ye can bet 
He hain't an' easy man upset. 



CAPTAIN B OB BILE Y. 1 53 

All went smooth till on the hum run, 
When Bob spies a cloud 'n says, "there's fun 
Ahead sure, for the ol' storm king 
Is comin' for his reg'lar thing, 
But I want non' o' it in mine." 
An' then he yells, "bring up a line 

An' tie me to these here chimneys. 
Fur I'm a gwine along with these." 
Waal, the next minute 'way they went — 
Or at least that wuz their intent — 
But when the storm had cleared away. 
There sat Bob an' the chimneys — they 

Wuz hangin' to the ropes all right — 

Not overboard by a durn sight. 

Fur they couldn't get 'way with him — 

I tell ye Bob's a dandy Jim, 

He swore he'd bring them chimnej^s home 

Or lose his job, an' so they come. 



164 ^iV ODE TO AUTUMN. 



AN ODE TO AUTUMN. 



'Tis fall, 

And all 
The latest fashions are on tap, 

And female gall 

That comes to pall 
Our spirits with that never-ending cry, 
Which makes us think it would be sweet to die. 

Olife 

And strife, 
That rhyme and fit each other passing well ; 

O maid and wife, 

O merchant's knife, 
That cuts the goods that never are on sale, 
And all the things that make us weep and wail. 

Come now 

And vow 
To serve us in our hour of need. 

And show us how 

To point our prow 
For that fair port on which our thoughts are 

bent. 
Where roosts the winter's coal and monthly rent. 



AN ODE TO AUTUMN. 165 

That we 

May see 
The cheer that autumn ought to bring — 

The fat tur-ke, 

With cranber-e, 
And pumpkin pies of real ancestral size, 
And other luxuries that we highly prize. 



156 THE WHISKY BING. 



THE WHISKY RING. 

1876. 

"All aboard!" the conductor said: 
"Ready!" the engineer replied, 

With signals from the engine's head, 
Which fainter grew until they died 
At the city's side. 

For, getting steam, the engine lit 
Out up the road, and over space. 

As though the very fates spurred it — 
Leading the train a reckless chase 
In that midnight race. 

Spanning rivers and piercing hills, 

Threading the woods with golden light ; 

Anon a screech which caused the quills 
Of waking fowls to stand upright 
In terror and frio^ht. 



THE WHISKY BING. 157 

On to the Capitol they flew — 

Two hundred pussengers or more — 

The Governor, a dozen or two 

Of Senators, besides a score 

For a house still lower. 

They talked of politics and laws, 

Of finance and affairs of State, 
The whisk}^ ring, and wagged their jaws 

Long and loud of its terrible fate, 
While they took theirs straight. 

"Hunky fellows, well met," you say ; 

And so they seemed ; but don't be rash — 
The State has berths that never pay— 

Pan out neither honor nor cash — 
Why, they ain't worth hash. 

Sol in the east rose round and red. 

When all stepped off the pausing train, 

The Governor stood and scratched his head— 
*'What ! members wearing ball and chain? - 
Will you jest explain? " 



158 THE WHISKY BING. 

" That' sail right, Gov' nr" — shaking his hand- 
An officer said ; "these bo3^s are booked 

For the lower house, you understand — 
Sent up for taking their whisky crooked. 
The Governor looked!" 



THE NOBLE BED MAN. 159 



THE NOBLE RED MAN. 



Big Moccasin Jim 
Was what they called him. 
A Winnebago, tall and slim, 
Born and brought up way out there 
On the Western plains, somewhere — 
Where they lift the white man's hair. 

"Child of the forest!" 

Oh, give us a rest! 

A lazy lumex, or I'm blest. 
"Ugh!" he grunts, "big Injun me heap! 
Fire-water and tobac' cheap, 
The great White Father red man keep ! ' ' 

Well, this Indian — 

And it was a sin — 

Would loaf about the post and grin, 
Waiting for his regular grub. 
Nothing abashed by kick or snub — 
Total depravity to the hub. 



160 THE NOBLE BED MAN. 

Till the officer said — 

Scratching his head 

And quoting a line you have read — 
''How distance lends enchantment to 
And beautifies many a view 
A close inspection might look through. 

"None of this in mine — 

Throwing pearls to swine, 

Who tends the grape may drink the wine ; 
Who sows the seed may reap the grain. 
And the 'Prodigal' may not complain 
To find the calf already slain. 



And he formed a ring, 

Which was just the thing 

To make the child of the forest sing 
*'Big Injun no git heap to eat — 
Pale-face men muchee Injun cheat." 
This was the speech he did repeat. 



Wall, so thin he grew — 

What I speak is true — 

That you might look that Indian through ; 
The shadow he cast on the ground 
Was, on close inspection, found 
Caused by the pelt he had around. 



THE NOBLE BED MAN. IGl 

But the Government 

Got upon the scent, 

When a good Friend straightway went 
With power to investigate, 
And then report unto the state, 
Whether he found things crooked or straight. 

Well, this old Broadbrim, 

All in Quaker trim. 

With coat reaching low down on him. 
Sought the post, but 'tis inferred, 
It wasn't the red man's side he heard. 
He left next day with — "mum's the word." 

To the State he said, 

"Friends, it is bread 

And meat which ails the man that's red, 
It's plainly evident to me 
Civilization don't agree 
With the noble aborigenee." 



162 THE M YS TEB Y OF KERB Y PA TCH. 



THE MYSTERY OF KERRY PATCH. 



There are mysteries in this world that are never 
cleared away, 

And will not be understood until the final judg- 
ment day ; 

But of all the hidden secrets there are few indeed 
can match 

The story of the newsboy who lived in "Kerry 
Patch." 

He was but a child in years — had seen of birth- 
days only six — 

Though the capricious goddess Fortune had 
dealt him many licks ; 

Every dud upon his body showed where gaping 
rents had been, 

And yet rags become respectable when scrupu- 
lously clean. 



THE MYS TEH Y OF KERB Y PA TGH. 1 6 3 

Every morning, bright and early, he would board 

the passing car, 
With his scanty stock in trade, and call out, 

"Papers, here you are!" 
Spoke in accents low and feeble, and in a serious 

tone. 
As though nursing some great sorrow that he 

wished not to be known. 

Men would shake their heads and mutter, 

"Hav'n't any time to read: 
Times are hard, and every nickel counts!" Oh, 

miserable creed ! 
Sympathy is loth to enter where no interest is at 

stake ; 
And charity, at best, but follows in a business 

wake. 

But one day a splendid lady the poor little child 

caressed. 
As a mother might her darling, and a dozen 

kisses pressed 
Right upon his rosy lips, as she drew him to her 

seat; 
Said she really couldn't help it, for he looked so 

nice and sweet. 



164 THE MYSTEBY OF KEBRY BATCH. 

Then she questioned him of home and spoke a 

kindly word of cheer ; 
Was he prosperous and happy ? But he answered 

with a tear 
Dropped upon her silken garment as he struggled 

to be free, 
And petulantly muttered: "Oh, please, missus 

let me be ! " 

In a moment he had vanished — then there came 

a piercing cry, 
See the child beneath the wheels of the car that's 

passing by ; 
"Too late!" men say and shake their heads, 

while women faint away. 
Was it carlcssness? No matter. Dead, mangled, 

there he lay. 

They bore him to the alley, followed by the 

motley crowd. 
With his torn and crumpled papers wrapped 

about him as a shroud. 
Asking of the ragged urchins that were running 

on before, 
Where the little gamin lived, and to please point 

out the door. 



THI^ MYS TEB Y OF KERB Y PA TCH. 1 C 5 

* 'That's his home, right over there in that house 
across the way ; 

But his mother's verj^ sick — they think she'll 
not live out the day — 

Go up gently, if you please, sir, for the noise 
affects her so ; 

Doctor says it's nearly over —thought this morn- 
ing she would go." 

Silently and sad they entered, paused and gazed 

about the room — 
Not a whisper, not an echo — all was silent as the 

tomb. 
And they laid the little gamin close beside her 

on the bed ; 
But she never saw her child, for the mother, too, 

was dead ! 

That's the mystery of Kerry Patch ; and you'll 

think it rather queer, 
But it's all was ever known of them by any one 

round here. 
Some thought she'd been a lady fallen from her 

high estate ; 
All declared she was a woman worthy of a better 

fate. 



166 THE MTS TEB Y OP KERU Y PA TCB. 

What their history, or secret, the world may 

never know, 
For they searched the room for proof in every 

corner, high and low ; 
Neither note nor superscription any evidence 

revealed — 
All was blank, unmeaning, silent, as their graves 

in "Potter's Field." 



NO L UGK m FRA YER. 167 



NO LUCK IN PRAYER. 

It's the wick'd 'z gits the cream down here, 

An' the plus 'z gits the crust, 
But the ways o* Providence air queer 

An' I reck'n we'll hev ter trust. 

I've alus went on religion some, 

An' I 'low I've done my shar' 
To'ards sendin' souls ter kingum come — 

But I ain't no luck in pray'r. 

Why when the k'ards went agin me flat. 

An' I los' my bottom red, 
An' riz a stake on my boots an' hat, 

What d' you think that I said ? 

Did I blow an spout an' want ter fight? 

Not much, fur that ain't my trade. 
I goes ter my room that very night 

An' got down 'n my knees 'n pra3^'d. 



1 G8 NO L UCK IN PBA YER . 



I tol' the Lo'd how the thing 'd gone, 

An' dwelt on my arful luck, 
How Luke hed my yoke o' steers 'n pawn, 

An how arf ly I war stuck. 

Besides he didn't belong ter the chu'ch. 
An' war giv'n ter gain' an' sin, 

Tuk pride 'n leavin' saints 'n the lu'ch 
An' ropin' the members in. 

Waal, I felt rel'eved an' went ter work, 
Plum full o' relig'ous strength ; 

Ye see I lever war called a shirk, 
An I alus goes my length. 

So I staked my trousers on the tray, 

An waited fur Luke ter tu'n. 
But he raked em in indiff'rentlj^, 

Like it warn't o' no concern. 

No ! thar ain't no salvation fur me ! 

I hev got no show up thar, 
I'm 'umble 'z any one brok' kin be, 

But I ain't no luck in pray'r. 



Ct VIL BIGHTS IN SURE VEPOB T. 1 G9 



CIVIL RIGHTS IN SHREVEPORT. 

There air things in this worl' legislatiou can't 
reach, 

Questions statesmen do not understand, 
Impulses they fail in endeavorin' to teach 

Us to master an' hold in command. 

I've no doubt it's correct to pass civil rights laws 
For the colored ; but I must request — 

An' I do it with all due respect for the cause — 
Don't send 'em to Shreveport to test. 

One come to the hotel an' he wrote down his name 
In characters quite dashin' an' bold — 

Said the clerk, "You air colored," he replied 
"I'm the same," 
When their e3'es at each other they rolled. 

T wo o' clock wuz the hour an' the- tables wuz spread 
For the guests who now marched in to dine, 

\Nhen, would you believe it the ol' reprobate said : 
"Hash ready? show me up, I'llhev mine." 



170 CIVIL BIGHTS IN SIIREVEPOBT. 

The Caucasian waiter drewbisse'f up with pride 
An' then answered, "Ef you know what's well, 

You'll make yerse'f scarce here, come now, git 
up and slide 
Er you'll dine in a place — I'll not spell." 

But he waltzed up the steps which wuz fully two 
flights, 
With his thumbs in the arms o' his vest, 
An' aroun' the lonor hall ez thouojh viewin' the 
sights. 
When he final'y set down with the rest. 

Then the women retired to their rooms in disgust. 
An' Si Sanderson said, "Well this lays" — 

An' he rose to his feet ez though greatl}^ non- 
plussed — 
"Over anj^thing seen in these days." 

An' he let fly a ball o' potatoes an' fish, 
Then salads, pickled onions an' pears, 

Sullibubs an' jelly, an' so every dish. 

Till they topped off with tables an' chairs. 



CIVIL niQHTS IN SRBEVEPOnT, 171 

We tunnelled the wreck an' we found the remains 
Buried under the dining room traps, 

But thinkin' a funeral a sheer wastin' o' pains 
Sent 'em out in a basket o' scraps. 

There air things in this worP legislation can ^t reach, 
Questions statesmen should not agitate, 

Ef they will, let 'em slip in a clause, I beseech, 
That will pa}" for our demolished plates. 



172 THE HE no OF NATCHEZ T,END. 



THE HERO OF NATCHEZ BEND. 



Thar air men ez air sot np ez heroes, 
That don't do much, ye'll allow, 

Then agin thar air plenty o' those 
Can't git thar names up no how. 

An' a 7nan that runs on the river 
May save more lines 'n enough, 

An' s'archin' the papers diskiver 
They ain't even gin him a puff. 

Now I don't think this is all reg'lar, 
'Taint treatin' we-uns O. K. 

I know, fur ye see I hev been thar, 
An that is what makes me say 

That a chap ez does his levelest 
In bringin' an ol' craft through, 

An hap'ns ter git jerk'd ter his long rest 
Ain't ter be sneeezed at by you. 



THE IIEBO OF NATCHEZ BEND. 173 

Ez war the case with Bagly Harris, 
Who froze ter the Creole's wheel, 

Fur he seed his duty ez clear ez 
Daylight, an' he didn't squeal. 

Though he never knowed the prevailin' 
Storm hed scooped him overboard. 

An' the pilot house war a sailin' 
Along o' its own accord. 

He tried fur ter blow on the whistle 

An' holler down ter the bar, 
Ter his ol' friend big Sandy Bissell 

Ter send him a drink up thar. 

Fur he wusn't awar' that the Creole 

War safely tied ter a tree, 
An' the capt'in an' every soul 

Asleep ez sound ez could be. 

So he held her level an' steady 

In the boilin' water 'n wind, 
An' keeping a lookout ahead, he 

Expected soon fur ter find 



174 THE HERO OF NATCHEZ BEND. 

The bank, so's he could make a landiii'. 

But he never found the shor' 
An* all through the night he kept standin' 

An' steerin' jes ez afor'. 

When they foun' him he war still clingin' 
With his teeth unter the wheel, 

Jes ez though he hed bin a bringin' 
Through a craft ez hed a keel. 

But col' in death's embrace, an' grim — 
Ter Canaan's Ian' he crossed, 

An' I hope the angels won't tell him 
He war the unly one lost. 

Thar's men ez air sot up ez heroes, 
That don't do much, ye'll allow, 

Then agin thar air plenty o' those 
Ez can't git thar names up no how. 

An' so it war with Bagly Harris, 
Who war made o' the true stuff, 

An' I reckon it unly fa'r is 
Ter gin the ol' man a puff. 



THE APPLE MAID. 175 



THE APPLE MAID. 

'Twas in that lovely season of the year 

When pawpaws ripen and grow soft and black, 
And in the daily market do appear 

To tempt loose change from the depleted sack, 
That Sally Skinner, the fair apple maid. 
With ladened basket to the levee strayed. 

She was quite young, just bordering on sixteen. 

Of comely presence as you'd wish to see, 
Although she wasn't dressed just like a queen 
(Her dress flapped in the wind a little free) ; 
But she was lively, and could sell more fruit 
Than all the peddlers on the creek to boot. 

Her mother took in washing on the hill, — 
Sometimes took something stronger in, 'twas 
said; 
But then she was a woman of strong will, 
And never let it run off with her head. 
But plied her business in an even way. 
And earned her daily bread from day to day. 



1 76 THE APPLE MAID. 

And so they prospered, as 'tis plain all should 

Who pass their time away in doing good, 
And in due time financially took rank 
As having quite a nest-egg in the bank ; 
But lovely Juliet met her Romeo, 
And why should Sally ever unloved go ? 

He was deck-sweeper on the Mary Ann, 

A youth of gallons stride and coarse red hair — 
Would soon grow up to be a bully man ; 

He now could chew tobacco, light and swear; 
How could the lovely creature answer nay. 
To "Sally, pass the produce up this way?" 

It charmed the girl to see her lover eat ; 

And so she gazed, and never once mistrusted. 

While he was taking in the sour and sweet. 

That he or she, or both, would soon be busted ; 

But so it was,for when she homeward strayed, 

She found her fruit, her time and money 

played. 

The empty basket made her mother smile, 
For it did argue a most prosperous day ; 
But when she said: "Dear Sally, where's your 
pile?" 



THE APPLE MAID. 177 

The maiden turned her head another way. 
You may imagine, but I can't express, 
How old dame Skinner did her offspring bless. 

But women are but women after all ; 

And when the bankrupt daughter did explain, — 
Although denouncing her commercial fall, — 
Resolved at once to set up trade again. 
So, swiftly to the bank the mother went. 
And, check in hand, demanded her last cent. 

Then, calling Sally to her side, she said : 

"Go buy a peck, and tr}^ your luck again ; 
But shun the fellow with the sandy head. 
Or from this house forever you'll remain." 
And so she sallied forth, and talked and 

smiled, 
And sought the youth again, the silly child. 

She found him brushing up the lower deck, 

But meeting, they both did sit down to rest ; 
He of her apple cart soon made a wreck, 
And left the girl again sorely distressed, 
Who gazed on him and then looked in the 

basket ; 
How dear he was we scarcely need to ask it. 



178 THE APPLE MAID. 

They married, and were happy in their love ; 

Promotion came and raised him to deck hand — 
And on the raging creclv he still does rove, 
While she's sole owner of an apple stand. 
My story's brief, but long enough to prove 
The world's still running in the same old 
groove. 



THE COUNTY FAIE. 179 



THE COUNTY FAIR. 

Waal, yes, ye see, 'at we're on ban', 
An' anxious fur to do our shar', 

Fur o' all 'mus'ents, un'erstan', 
Me an' Merlindy prefer the Fa'r. 

These air the curiosities 

A man don't tire o' lookin' at — 
Suthin' ter help pay taxes 

An' keep things goin' 'n sech ez that. 

Cows ez '11 gev a pail o' milk, 

An' bred 'till they 'pear half human, 

An' bosses' 'at shine jes like silk, 
An' run — ef ye'll wait ol' 'oman, 

An' ta'k a spell ter Deacon Wells, 
I'll try'n pick a winner er two, 

An' te'ch some o' them city swells 
What a plain country chap kin do. 

Want ter go long, eh ! an' not wait — 
Wimin' they say aint much fur luck, 

But mar'd men mus' b'ar thar fate — 
That gal war bo'n in ol' Kentuck. 



180 CHRISTMAS EVE. 



CHRISTMAS EVE. 

He beara rich jewels to his lady's bower, 

And pockets Santa-Claus-wise filled with toyo ; 
Love tokens that forecast the morrow's joys, 

When meriy bells ring out the welcome hour. 

Happy the home that knows such scenes as these. 
Where loving hands arrange each glad surprise, 
Keeping alive the hallowed memories 

That came to us from out the centuries. 



THE SAD FATE OF PETER JONES. 181 



THE SAD FATE OF PETER JONES. 

Once, in the flight of time, there lived a boy 
Who came of poor but honest parentage ; 
He was his mother's pet and father's joy, 
And just exactly eighteen years of age 
When he did quit this sublunar}^ sphere, 
And died a hero, as it will appear. 

He was an unsophisticated youth, 

From the verdant fields of Posey County, 
Who never could speak anything but truth, 
Though offered for each falsehood a large 
bounty ; 
And when he came to town to seek a living. 
Much good advice to other boys kept giving. 

He never played with marbles or with balls. 

And saw no good in any of these waj^s, 
But loved to view the horses in their stalls, 
And this one criticise and that one praise ; 
And daily made commendable progression 
In studying for the bob-tail car profession. 



182 THE SAD FATE OF PETEB JONES. 

For many weeks he strolled about the city, 

And ran in debt for board and all expenses ; 
He made some friends, who said it was a pity, 
And vowed the boy was losing all his senses — 
For he would stand for hours, with his mouth 

ajar. 
And view with ecstacy each passing car. 

One day he got a driver's situation, 

And felt at length, that he had drawn a prize ; 
In fact, it was an active occupation. 
In which a youth was very apt to rise — 
Fur every one who did engage to drive 
Was bound by contract to get up at five. 

He took the reins as one ordained to rule. 

Then tightened them a little with each hand, 
As though to say, "Well, now, good Mister 
Mule, 
Hereafter I would have you understand 
That when I say to you, 'Come, go alang,' 
That I am captain of this 'ere shebang." 

Just then the starter blew a piercing blast, 
Which made the animal prick up its ears 
And dash ahead at gait so very fast 



THE SAD FATE OF PETEB JONES. 183 

As to arouse in Peter Jones some fears ; 
But when the car began to jolt and shake, 
The inmates hallooed out, "Put down the 
brake!" 

Instead of putting down, he screwed it up, 

Which only made the mule rush onward faster ; 
When, lo ! the car run on a big pull pup, 

And Peter whispered to himself, 'Dod blast 
her!" 
But, after going on one wheel awhile, 
It settled down again in splendid style ; 

Then dashed ahead at a terrific rate, 

Alike unheeding rings to stop or hail. 
The passengers were in a fearful state — 

Strong men did pray and weaker women wail ; 
Spectators said the sight was truly grand 
To witness Peter drive that "one in hand." 

Just then another car came round the curve — 

Two single mules were blended into one ; 
Ask for those passengers ! I would observe 
That "they have put their angel plumage on ;" 
And in the wreck were found the cold re- 
mains 
Of Peter Jones, still holding to the reins. 



184 THE SAD FATE OF PETEIi JONES. 

The coroner was summoned to the scene, 

And held an inquest on the men and mules. 
He said the accident might not have been 

Had both the cars observed the comp'ny's 
rules, 
Which read emphatically, in white and black ; 
"Two cars shall never pass upon one track." 



MISSISSIPPI SMITHEBS. 186 



MISSISSIPPI smithp:rs. 

"Hello ! elev'n— waal, let it strike ; 

Kern, Frazier, kern — a soug ! 
Simpson, thar, an' Marlinspike, 

Jes pass the grog along. 
We'll cut fur deal— the highest k'ard — " 

Says a voice from the draught thej' sip 
"Dark the river rolls below" — 

"Well, durn it, let her rip." 

"Converse made an awful smoke, 

With that air J. M. White ; 
I reckon that the catfish woke 

When that craft kem in sight. 
But Lor', she's gone an' hed her daj^ ; 

Her famous joh is done — " 
"Dark the river rolls below — " 

"Well, durn it, let it run." 



186 MISSISSIPPI SMITHEBS. 

*' Fifty year ago to-night — 

Drink, boys, I'm gettin' dr}^ — 
The Swiftsure went up like a kite ; 

You orto've seen us fly. 
She'd pass'd the Homer under way. 

But the critter busted wide — " 
*'I)ark the river rolls below" — 

"Well, durn it, let her slide." 

"Smith war planted in the field, 

Above the mouth of cache ; 
An' Oakes hasn't, sence she squealed, 

Tuk up the pan fur hash. 
An' Sally Smithers — waal, 

I've been 'lone fur many a year," 
"Dark the river runs below" — 

"How strange the lights appear." 

"Waal, yes, them were the palmy daj^s! 

At least, that's what they say; 
Fur blessin's here we seldom praise 

Until they're pass'd away. 
But Sallie — she went long ago ; 

How peartly time has flew ! 
"Ho! Broadus, catch Old Smithers! thar- 

He's quit the river, too." 



A MUD THEORY. 187 



A MUD THEORY. 

'Tis a theory of the schools, 

The earth was once a fluid, 
Aud growing solid as it cools, 

Will yet become imbued 
With such a quantity of cold, 
As not a living thing to hold. 

That is, the sun's not all the heat 

That nourishes vegetation. 
For while Sol warms the head, the feet 

Draw from the incrustation — 
The vegetables' feet I mean — 
Sufficient warmth to keep them green. 

Well, be this as it may elsewhere — 
1 speak but for this section — 

And grieve to say I cannot share 
My thoughts in this connection ; 

'Tis true, or I'm an arrant sinner. 

Terra firma here gets daily "thinner." 



188 SANDY POSET. 



SANDY POSEY. 

Thar's signs ez goes back on the ol'estman, 

Thar's clouds ez never brings rain, 
Signs ez air apt ter mislead, 

Deceptions ez causes pain. 
An tlie bes' that we kin do ol' Satan 

'111 now an' then make a gain : 

Fur instance, I'll jes explain. 

Ez in the case o' big Sandy Posey, 

At the oV camp-meetin' groun', 
He bed every symptom 

O' hevin' salvation foun'. 
An' right in the middle o' the sermon 

Commenced jumpin' up an down 

An' then ter rollin arouu'. 

I felt sartin ez it war a cl'ar case 

O' the spirit-movin power 
That he'd got a holt o' him. 

Then an' thar that very hour ; 
Fur the ol' sinner shook till his dice box 

An' k'ards fell in a shower, 

He hed drap'd his las' bower. 



SANDY FOSEY. 189 



Then he looked up inter the apple trees 

An' inquired, "who kin it be 
A roustin' up thar in that fork 

Ez done this hyar thing ter me?" 
An I said, "Thank the Lo'd, man. 

Fur causin' ye fur ter see" — 

Still a lookin' up a tree. 

"Waal, yes, I'm seeiu' some now,ol'pardner, 

An' I wish that ye would try 
An' fin' out the on'ry scamp 

Ez squirted inter ray eye 
That air terbac'er juice ;" this surprised me, 

So 'at I made no reply : 

Fac' ez 'at I didn't try. 

Thar's signs ez goes bac' on the ol'est man, 

Thar's clouds ez never brings rain ; 
Signs ez air apt ter mislead, 

Deceptions ez causes pain. 
Ez in the case o' big Sandy Posey 

Who 'ill not fool me soon ag'in, 

Ez 'bout my way o' thinkin'. 



190 THE NEW AMAZONS. 



THE NEW AMAZONS. 



Say have you heard of great Dio* 
And his female brigade in Ohio ? 

The charge that they made 

On King Alcohol's trade, 
Opened that Old Monarch's eye, O. 

When Peter the Hermit first made his 
Crusade 'gainst those demons of Hades, 

'Twas an awful mistake 

Those warriors to take 
Instead of an army of ladies. 

For had those uncivilized nations, 
With all their unfriendly relations, 
Been besieged with such charms, 
They'd have thrown down their arms — 
Gone back on their chief and their rations. 

*Dio Lewis. 



THE NEW AMAZONS. 191 



Then sing us no more songs of Bacchus, 
And cease with your nonsense to rack us 

We will cheerfully flee 

From the joys of a spree, 
If the women will only attack us. 

So, forward, brigade of Ohio, 

Led on by redoubtable Dio ; 
The aroma which slips 
From thy warriors' sweet lips 

Is better than any old rye, O. 



192 SANDY THOMPSON'S STEERS. 



SANDY THOMPvSON'S STEERS. 



Waal, I ain't much on spiunin' j^arns, 

An' tellin' jokes an' sich, 
Fur 1 git things all mixed up, 

Can't tell t'other frum which. 
But I s'pose 3"e'r, boun' ter hear it, 

So draw aroun' yer cheers. 
An' I'll tell ye 'bout my scrape 

With Sar^dy Thompson's steers. 

I'd been a haulin' o' some logs 

An' jes unhitched a pull — 
When the hook got cotched in my bout, 

An' jerked me agin ol' bull, 
Which made the steers skedaddle 

An' foot it through the snow, 
An' they kept a goin' faster 

The mor' I holler' d whoa. 



SANDY THOMPSON'S STEEBS. 193 



They snaked me down through the d'arin', 

An' struck the ol' turnpike, 
An I 'low it's safe ter say 

Ye never saw the like. 
They puffed an' blowed an made more fuss 

Than a Mississippi eraf, 
That war a makin* raillroad time 

With a barge in tow back af. 

We pass'd good De'con Sanford's house 

Ez he war hevin' pra'r, 
An' the houn's they yelped an' start'd 

Ez ef 01' Nick war thar. 
The good exhorter heard the noise, 

But lowed they'd struck a trail. 
An' kep' on prayin jes ez though 

It warn't o' no avail. 

I brought up stradle o' a stump, 

But the team rushed alons^ 
Like a locomotive engine 

With the steam tu'ned on strong. 
An' my boot went jumpin' arter — 

I never shell furgit, 
Waal, I rec'on them air critters 

Air hollin' o' it yit. 



194 SANDY THOMPSON'S STEERS. 

They say that all is fur the bes' , 

Hed we the power ter see, 
But thar air things in this hyar worl' 

That air myst'ries ter me. 
An' the mor' I stedy on it 

The mor' it still appears, 
That no good could ever kem 

O' that on'ry yoke o' steers. 



THE UNRECONSTRUCTED. 195 



THE UNRECONSTRUCTED. 



Sand}^ Hawkins war his Dame, an' he resided 

down in Pike, 
An' fur railin' on the Yankees no one ever saw 

his like. 
He'd cuss 'em with an eloquence so extremely 

rich an rar' , 
It partuk o' all the earnestness an' fe'vency o' 

pra'r. 

"A carpet bagger," he would say, with his pecu- 
liar sneer, 

"Is not the style o' citizen '11 fin' it healthy 
hyar." 

An' then ef any war aroun' jes ter tech em ter 
the quick. 

He'd declar' he never yit hed seed a Yank he 
couldn't lick. 



196 THE UNRECO^ STBUCTED. 

He'd bluffed off all new comers, while a number 
he had whaled, 

An 'them ez he hedn'tpummeledhe'd effectually 
quailed. 

Till one day he struck a straunger, an' in con- 
versation with 

The same, he soon discovered that his name, it 
war Jim Smith. 

They'd played a game o' poker, which war 
quarter-ante straight, 

But the k'ards went back on Sandy at a fearful 
rapid rate. 

Till the whol' 'mount o' currency that hed be- 
longed ter him 

War snugly rustercatin' in the panterloous o' 
Jim. 

Then he 'lowed how he'd been cheated, an' his 

dander ris an' ris. 
While he continered ter express the feelings that 

war his — 
Said 'twar nigger luck ez beat him, an' warn't 

done 'pon the square, 
An' 'twar evident he meant ter otq fur Jim right 

then an' thar. 



THE UNBE CONSTRUCTED. 197 

But Mr. Smith war peaceful, an' not so easily 

beguiled, 
An' he stood an' looked at Sandy ez though 

pained ter see him riled, 
'Lowed he didn't keer ter fight a man fur sech a 

trivial cause, 
An' besides it warn't proper thus ter trespass on 

the laws. 

Is thar reason in a mad man, or infuriated steer, 
Or a hoss when he imagin's su'thin's wrong 

about the gear. 
Or a Mississippi craft that hez made up her mind 

ter bust, 
Or the bank whar ye deposit when ye call ter ast 

fur trust ? 

'Twar 'about this way with Sandy, who struck 

out lef an right. 
An' swore he'd hev his money back or else 

he'd hev a fight. 
So they got inter a tussle which lasted fur quite 

a spell. 
An' when the thing war over Sandy didn't feel 

so well. 



198 THE UNRECONSTRUCTED. 

They picked him up an' bore him Jiors de combat 

frum the ground, 
An' filled him full o' licker, 'lowin that mought 

bring him roun'. 
Fur a moment breath kem ter him an' he looked 

'roun' 'n' sighed 
"We air ruined by the Yanks," an' he closed 

his hps an' died. 



THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. 199 



THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. 



Bill come into the trade with the durndes' oV 

craf , 
She wuz broke down amidship an' hogged all 

abaf. 
An' her chimneys, they leaned at right angles 

away, 
But he'd writ on her wheelhouse, "I've come 

here to stay." 
The people all laughed at that air plug o' a boat, 
An' declar'd that her capt'in should hev a new 

coat : 
Fur his elbows wuz out an' his knees wuzn't in. 
But when a man's hones' his rags ain't no sin. 

He wuz deck han' an' rouster — stood watch at 

the wheel, 
An' would fire till he made the safety valve 

squeal. 



200 THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. 

Waal, the berths that he hel' I 'low wuzn't a 

few, 
Fur the boys all declar'd he wuz chambermaid, 

too. 
He would run any craf in the trade out o' sight, 
An' wuz never foun' nappin' in day time or 

night, 
But would land fur a hail jes to take in a dime. 
An' the people, they said, "gev us Bill every 

time." 

The other boats a' lowed that the thing it wuz 

plain 
That their business wuz played ef this chap did 

remain ; 
So to put up a job they straightway went about, 
The object o' which wuz jist to raise William 

out. 
They cut down on the rates, an tuk passengers 

cheap : 

What before they'd charged one, now would pay 

fur a heap. 
But Bill stayed in the game with his deuces 

an' trays, 
An' what worried 'em most, he kept standin' the 

raise. 



THE WHITE COLLAR LINE. 201 

Competition went on, an the money it flew ; 
When they landed fer freight Bill wuz alus thar, 

too, 
An' rak'd in snch ashar' o' the trade which they 

sought 
That they swore by the pow'rs '"twuz a tartar 

they'd caught." 
Yes, he stayed, you bet, and you will find him 

there yit ; 
He will tell you about all the fights that he's fit — 
Fur Bill he wuz game, an attended to biz ; 
An you see all them white collared boats? — 

waal, they're his. 



202 BLANNEBHAS8ETT 8. 



BLANNERHASSETT'S. 



"Blannerhassett's?" said the Captain: "that's 
it, there. 
But this bar's rather shallow — Sykes, the lead ! 
Seven and a quarter? well, that's fair; 

But hold her level, Birch, there's rocks 
ahead — 
Ah ! there you are, now let her go along, 
And tell the engineer to work her strong. 

"Well, all I know about the island is : 

Just previous to the year eighteen hundred, 
Blannerhassett and that wife of his 

Settled here. The neighbors said they blun- 
dered, 
And vowed no feller with sech soft white hands 
Would ever make much headway cl'arin' lands. 



BLANNEBHA88B TT S. 203 

"But he had what the people wanted — gold! 
Which is a power, you know, of some dimen- 
sions ; 
And all he had to do, so I am told. 

Was just to hint at what were his intentions — 
Whether to clear a field or bridge a run — 
It wasn't no time till the job was done. 

"And soon they rigged the island up so fine, 
It seemed a jewel risen from the water. 

Of all the farms this one did take the shine ; 
Folks came to see it from every quarter. 

The rare flowers, plants, fruits and shrubbery, 

They say, was really a sight to see. 

"As to his wife, why, I've heard them tell 

About her beauty, and how she played 
On the harp and piano till the swell 

Of music out on the waters strayed. 
And charmed a boat's crew that was floatin' by. 
Till Sandy Jones forgot that he held high. 



204 BLANNEBHAS8ETT S. 

"And how they come to quit the place, eh ! O ! 

You see, a certain chap from New Yorlv city, 
Who came a coasting down the river slow — 

I know you'll say it was a pity 
That he should stop at this here paradise, 

Where everj^thing was goin' on so nice. 

"But Aaron Burr did stop — that was his name — 
And him and Blannerhassett had a chat. 

In which Mr. Burr did talk of fame, 

And power, and empire, ermine, and all that, 

Till Blannerhassett got so badly stuck 

That he concluded just to try his luck. 

"And that is all — he never did come back. 
For years the madam pined, till, broken- 
hearted. 

She died ; and so the island went to rack, 

And it's now, you see, about where it started. 

The weeds are rather thrifty, you'll allow. 

And that old house ain't quite a palace now." 



